T  Ml 'XT  hare  had  Xeir 
•*  Enyland  aneextorx  airay 
had:  and  inherited  some  of 
their  xfaneli  and  ni(/(/ed 
fear  of  the  police. 


Biographical 
Edition 


THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 


O.  HENRY 

BIOGRAPHICAL  EDITION 

THE    GENTLE 
GRAFTER 


WITH   A   NOTE    BY    ROBERT    H.    DAVIS 


GARDEN    CITY  NEW   YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1925 


COPYRIGHT,  I9O4,  I9OS,  1906,  I9O7, 
1908,  BY  DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY. 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED.  PRINTED  IN 
THE  UNITED  STATES  AT  THE  COUN 
TRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  _N.  Y. 


Stack 
Annox 

PS 


CONTENTS 


PACE 


THE  OCTOPUS  MAROONED         i 

JEFF  PETERS  AS  A  PERSONAL  MAGNET    .     .  14 

MODERN  RURAL  SPORTS 2.7 

THE  CHAIR  OF  PHILANTHROMATHEMATICS      .  37 

THE  HAND  THAT  RILES  THE  WORLD  ...  48 

THE  EXACT  SCIENCE  OF  MATRIMONY       .     .  59 

A  MIDSUMMER  MASQUERADE 71 

SHEARING  THE  WOLF 83 

INNOCENTS  OF  BROADWAY 95 

CONSCIENCE  IN  ART 108 

THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP 117 

A  TEMPERED  WIND 136 

HOSTAGES  TO  MOMUS 169 

THE  ETHICS  OF  PIG 189 


INTEREST  in  the  late  0.  Henry  is  about 
equally  divided  between  the  individual  and  his 
products.  It  is  quite  impossible  to  interpret 
the  one  without  understanding  the  other. 

When  his  stories  began  to  appear  in  the  latter 
nineties,  a  few  people  sensed  their  quality, 
though  appreciation  in  letters  is  long  de 
layed.  Here  and  there  a  discerning  eye  or  a 
friendly  voice  spreads  the  news,  but  the  first 
years  are  harrowing  years  and  the  acolyte  must 
swing  his  lamp  a  thousand  times  before  the 
flame  illuminates  even  his  own  person,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  aisle  to  the  chancel. 

My  first  experience  with  O.  Henry  was  when 
I  read  his  story  "The  Ice  Machine,"  after 
which  I  devoured  everything  I  could  find 
under  the  signature  of  O.  Henry  or  Sydney 
Porter. 

In  1903,  F.  L.  H.  Noble  went  from  the  New 
York  American^  to  the  Sunday  editorship  of 
the  New  York  World.  I  went  with  him.  In 
scouting  about  for  features  Noble  had  an  ex 
cellent  idea.  He  was  so  concerned  about  its 
excellence  that  he  took  me  out  to  his  home  in 
Flushing,  Long  Island,  for  a  secret  conference. 
There  was  an  air  of  mystery  about  the  whole 


viii    HOW  I  MET  THE  CALIPH  OF  BAGDAD 

proceeding.  Finally  he  put  the  proposition  in 
one  paragraph.  This  was  my  assignment: 

"Go  out  and  locate  O.  Henry.  He's  got  a 
breezy,  snappy  style.  I  want  him  to  write 
introductions  to  our  Sunday  stories.  Offer 
$40  a  week.  If  that  doesn't  do  the  trick,  jump 
to  $50.  The  limit  is  $60." 

After  some  research  I  learned  that  the  author 
was  living  over  a  French  restaurant  somewhere 
on  West  Twenty-fourth  Street. 

Accordingly  I  began  a  complete  survey  of 
every  structure  that  seemed  open  to  the  tran 
sient  world.  Through  the  courtesy  of  some 
landlords  and  the  discourtesy  of  a  few  waiters, 
I  managed  to  comb  four  buildings — without 
results.  The  fifth  happened  to  be  the  Hotel 
Marty,  between  Sixth  Avenue  and  Broadway. 
The  proprietor  was  French.  I  asked  him  if  he 
had  an  O.  Henry  or  a  Sydney  Porter  occupying 
a  room  in  his  hospitable  inn.  Neither  name 
seemed  to  mean  anything  to  him.  He  did,  how 
ever,  suggest  that  I  might  go  through  the  house 
and  investigate. 

I  began  on  the  top  story.  None  of  the  ten 
ants  was  in.  On  the  next  story,  that  is  to  say, 
the  fourth  from  the  ground,  from  hall  bedroom 
number  seven,  in  response  to  my  bombardment, 
I  received  a  cheerful  invitation  to  enter.  It  was 
a  very  small  room  opening  on  the  usual  air-shaft. 
In  spite  of  the  dim  light  I  was  able  to  make  out 
a  rather  corpulent  figure  in  shirt  sleeves,  sus 
penders  down,  seated  beside  a  wash  stand  upon 
which  reposed  a  huge  bowl  containing  perhaps 
five  pounds  of  cracked  ice  in  which  nestled  a 


HOW  I  MET  THE  CALIPH  OF  BAGDAD      ix 

half  dozen  fine  Bartlett  pears.  The  fat  man 
arose  with  considerable  dignity,  bowed,  and 
spoke:  "Come  in,  Mister." 

I  entered  and  closed  the  door. 

"I  am  looking  for  Mr.  Sydney  Porter,  other 
wise,  O.  Henry." 

"I  am  both,"  said  he.  "Here's  a  chair. 
Have  some  fruit.  It  is  nice  and  cool.  I  suffer 
like  hell  in  New  York  from  the  heat."  He 
wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow.  "What 
can  I  do  for  you?" 

I  seized  a  Bartlett  and  slew  it  with  the  skin  on. 

"I  have  a  proposition  to  make." 

He  fixed  his  gray-blue  eyes  upon  me  and 
cupped  his  left  ear  with  his  hand.  There  was 
something  about  his  demeanor  that  suggested 
the  utter  absurdity  of  traffic. 

"In  fact,  I  have  three  propositions,"  I  con 
tinued.  "But  I  shall  make  the  last  one  first." 

I  took  two  more  bites  out  of  the  Bartlett  for 
purposes  of  concentration  and  then  fired  the 
shot. 

"The  New  York  World  authorizes  me  to  offer 
you  $60  a  week  to  write  introductions  varying 
from  three  hundred  to  seven  hundred  words  in 
length,  for  special  features  appearing  in  the 
Sunday  issue." 

"If  this  last  proposition  is  the  best,"  said  he, 
gazing  out  of  the  air-shaft  much  in  the  same 
manner  as  the  Prisoner  of  Chillon  catching  a 
glimpse  of  Lake  Geneva,  "you  needn't  make  the 
other  two.  I  accept  your  proposition.  More 
over,  Mister,  you  can  have  the  balance  of  the 
pears." 


x       HOW  I  MET  THE  CALIPH  OF  BAGDAD 

The  whole  transaction  was  completed  in  less 
than  five  minutes.  To  commemorate  the  oper 
ation,  Porter  hastily  got  into  his  coat  and 
vest  and  we  withdrew  to  the  basement  of  the 
Marty  where,  in  spite  of  the  humidity  and  the 
absurdity  of  the  noon  hour,  we  had  a  full-course 
French  dinner  including  a  quart  of  imported 
wine,  which  lasted  until  2:30  P.M. 

Within  the  next  few  days  I  turned  over  to 
him  proofs  of  six  or  eight  Sunday  World  stories, 
for  which  he  wrote  brilliant  introductions.  The 
following  week  he  left  the  Hotel  Marty  and 
took  an  apartment  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Irving  Place.  Thereafter  the  proofs  were  sent 
to  him  once  a  week  and  returned  to  the  office 
within  twenty-four  hours.  Some  of  the  ma 
terial  did  not  appeal  to  him.  He  said  that  he 
would  rather  not  prepare  an  introduction  to 
something  that  did  not  interest  him.  This, 
however,  was  seldom. 

Noble  subsequently  retired  from  the  editor 
ship  of  the  Sunday  World  and  was  succeeded 
by  the  late  Colonel  Caleb  Van  Hamm,  who 
inquired,  "Who  is  this  man  Porter?"  I  ex 
plained  that  he  was  one  of  Noble's  selections, 
and  that  his  rate  was  $60  a  week  for  such  in 
troductions  as  were  required  for  Sunday  fea 
tures. 

Van  Hamm  uttered  one  brilliant,  laconic 
sentence:  "Can  him." 

I  conveyed  to  O.  Henry  as  gently  as  pos 
sible  the  information  that  his  introductions 
were  unsatisfactory.  He  seemed  to  be  very 
much  pleased.  Subsequently  he  made  a  con- 


HOW  I  MET  THE  CALIPH  OF  BAGDAD      xi 

nection  with  the  Evening  World,  in  the  columns 
of  which  appeared  some  of  his  best  short  fic 
tion,  among  them  "The  Trimmed  Lamp." 
These  stories  were  gathered  in  the  volume  en 
titled  "The  Four  Million." 

In  the  course  of  this  relationship  I  had 
carried  on  a  voluminous  correspondence  with 
O.  Henry  and  saw  him  frequently.  Some  day  in 
the  future,  when  his  numerous  biographers  have 
come  to  rest,  I  shall  offer  mine  own  humble 
contribution,  and  print  his  correspondence. 
I  hope  it  will  shed  some  new  light  upon  his 
character. 

For  the  present  I  offer  a  few  of  his  adroit 
billets-doux  dealing  with  the  gentle  art  of 
securing  funds  to  tide  him  over  temporary  em 
barrassments.  He  was  the  nimblest-witted  bor 
rower  I  ever  met,  but  in  justice  I  must  say  that 
at  the  time  of  his  death  he  had  cleaned  the 
slate  of  all  obligations,  and  went  to  Olympus,  as 
far  as  I  was  concerned,  absolutely  solvent. 

Herewith  follow  seven  letters.  It  was  his 
habit  to  address  me  as  "Bill"  and  "Mister." 
Mere  terms  of  endearment  quite  in  keeping 
with  the  author's  recklessness  in  selecting 
pseudonyms  for  himself. 

Thursday. 
DEAR  OLD  BILL: 

At  last  I  have  hove  anchor  at — Waverlv  Place,  and  have 
an  address  to  give  you.  I  am  in  Gilman  Hall's  apartment, 
and  can  now  continue  to  turn  out  the  old  blown-in-the- 
bottle  brand  of  fiction. 

I  am  a  man  of  damn  few  words.  I  want  $125  (don't 
read  that  a  dollar  and  a  quarter).  That  in  addition  to 
the  $150  that  I  screwed  out  of  Merwin  during  your 


xii     HOW  I  MET  THE  CALIPH  OF  BAGDAD 

absence  will  make  a  total  of  $275,  which  wijl  be  more 
than  covered  by  the  moral  and  entertaining  tale  that  I 
hereby  agree  to  have  finished  and  delivered  to  you  all  by 
10:30  A.  M.  Monday,  Aug.  27,  or  perhaps  earlier. 

Pursue  the  best  liberal  policy,  and  get  the  best  stuff. 
Personally  and  officially  I  greet  you  and  make  obeisance. 

Consistently, 

BILL  THE  BEDOUIN. 

P.  S.  I  want  the  dough,  not  a  check  (but  a  check  will 
do)  by  the  bearer,  or  else  a  few  well-chosen  words  of 
refusal. 

Thursday. 
DEAR  BILL: 

Will  you  be  nice  enough  to  let  me  go  over  the  proofs  of 
all  my  stories  before  they  are  published?  The  printer, 
with  his  usual  helfiredness,  seems  always  to  butcher  the 
meaning  by  setting  up  words  that  do  not  appear  in  the  MS. 
Also  please  kill  your  proof  reader. 

Hoping,  etc.  yours, 
O.  H. 

DEAR  BILL: 

Here  she  are.  I  reckon  you  or  some  intelligent  person 
in  the  office  can  tell  where  the  patches  fit.  If  you  don't 
like  the  new  title  say  so.  There  are  others. 

Fulsomely, 
WILLIE. 

MON  CHER  BILL: 

Can  you  raise  the  immediate  goods  for  this,  and  once 
more  rescue  little  Ruby  from  certain  death? 

The  big  story  will  be  handed  in  Monday  for  you  to  try 
on  the  piano.  From  next  week  on  I'll  show  you  a  story 
every  week.  I'm  going  to  make  some  of  the  best  samples 
of  2,000  to  2,500  word  stuff  that's  possible.  That's  the 
length  that  counts. 

I'm  feeling  fine,  and  hope  these  few  lines  will — say, 
don't  forget  to  send  the  $25. 

Don't  do  it  if  you  refuse  to  do  it. 

Yours  ever, 
O.  H. 


HOW  I  MET  THE  CALIPH  OF  BAGDAD     xiii 

Saturday. 
HELL,  MR.  BILL: 

Say — a  fool  and  his  money,  etc. 

Is  there  anything  doing  for  about  $49.98  to-day  for  the 
purpose  of  purchasing  things  offered  for  sale  in  the  marts? 
I  had  to  send  most  of  all  that  stuff  abroad  that  you  gimme 
the  other  day. 

Don't  press  the  matter  if  it  seems  out  of  order.  I'll 
be  even  and  ahead  of  the  game  pretty  soon.  There  will 
come  to  you  on  Monday  the  new  story. 

Greetings  and  undying  veneration  in  either  case. 

O.  H 

Monday. 
DEAR  BILL: 

Herewith  submitted  one  MS.  Have  another  one  ready 
to  typewrite,  which  you  can  read  to-morrow. 

Give  the  full  speed  ahead  signal  and  whoop  them 
through,  pro  or  con.  Great  business.  The  mill  is  grind 
ing  at  the  old  gait. 

Yours,      ' 

BILL,  20. 

Monday. 
DEAR  MISTER: 

Would  you  put  a  tail  on  this  kite  for  me  again?  She 
will  fly  on  the  date  advertised.  Please  send  the  cash  if 
you've  got  it  on  hand. 

Say—the  story  will  be  brought  to  you  by  me  on  WED 
NESDAY.  It  will  be  an  all  right  one. 

Hoping,  etc.,  and  yours  truly, 
O.  H. 

Bill  the  Bedouin  was  a  procrastinator  in 
more  ways  than  one.  The  "big  story"  to 
which  he  refers  in  the  fourth  letter  of  the  pub 
lished  correspondence  did  not  appear  on  Mon 
day. 

I  called  on  him  at  his  Irving  Place  address 


xiv    HOW  I  MET  THE  CALIPH  OF  BAGDAD 

and  in  a  casual  way  inquired  as  to  the  progress 
of  the  manuscript. 

"Going  fine!  Got  a  great  start.  I  could  sit 
down  any  time  and  finish  it." 

"Can  I  read  the  first  page?" 

"Certainly,  old  kid,  here's  the  manuscript." 

He  tossed  me  a  sheaf  of  yellow  paper,  the 
first  page  of  which  contained  the  numeral  I, 
and  the  title.  Before  I  had  time  to  expostu 
late,  he  gently  took  the  sheaf  from  my  hand 
and  continued: 

"And  what's  more,  I  can  go  right  on  with 
this  story,  without  the  least  effort.  You  have 
already  seen  page  one.  Now  here's  the  second 
page." 

With  marvelous  deliberation  he  lifted  page 
one  and  wrote  "page  2"  on  the  next  sheet. 

"And  so  on.  Page  3,  4,  5.  I  think  I  will 
stop  here,  if  you  don't  mind,  and  rest." 

He  was  a  whimsical  individual,  absolutely 
without  guile,  and  at  times  helpless. 

I  have  the  feeling  that  had  he  possessed  the 
slightest  power  of  resistance,  he  would  be  alive 
to-day,  and  that  the  illness  to  which  he  sur 
rendered  would  have  been  defeated. 

Peace  be  to  his  ashes. 

ROBERT  H.  DAVIS. 


THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 


THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 


THE  OCTOPUS  MAROONED 

A  TRUST  is  its  weakest  point,"  said  Jeff 
Peters. 

"That,"  said  I,  "sounds  like  one  of  those  unin 
telligible  remarks  such  as, '  Why  is  a  policeman  ? ' ' 

"It  is  not,"  said  Jeff.  "There  are  no  re 
lations  between  a  trust  and  a  policeman.  My 
remark  was  an  epitogram — an  axis — a  kind 
of  mulct'em  in  parvo.  What  it  means  is  that 
a  trust  is  like  an  egg,  and  it  is  not  like  an  egg. 
If  you  want  to  break  an  egg  you  have  to  do  it 
from  the  outside.  The  only  way  to  break  up 
a  trust  is  from  the  inside.  Keep  sitting  on  it 
until  it  hatches.  Look  at  the  brood  of  young 
colleges  and  libraries  that's  chirping  and  peeping 
all  over  the  country.  Yes,  sir,  every  trust  bears 
in  its  own  bosom  the  seeds  of  its  destruction 
like  a  rooster  that  crows  near  a  Georgia  colored 
Methodist  camp  meeting,  or  a  Republican  an 
nouncing  himself  a  candidate  for  governor  of 

T  »> 

1  exas. 

I  asked  Jeff,  jestingly,  if  he  had  ever,  dur 
ing  his  checkered,  plaided,  mottled,  pied  and 
dappled  career,  conducted  an  enterprise  of  the 
class  to  which  the  word  "trust"  had  been 


2  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

applied.  Somewhat  to  my  surprise  he  ac 
knowledged  the  corner. 

"Once/'  said  he.  "And  the  state  seal  of 
New  Jersey  never  bit  into  a  charter  that  opened 
up  a  solider  and  safer  piece  of  legitimate  octopus- 
ing.  We  had  everything  in  our  favor — wind, 
water,  police,  nerve,  and  a  clean  monopoly  of 
an  article  indispensable  to  the  public.  There 
wasn't  a  trust  buster  on  the  globe  that  could 
have  found  a  weak  spot  in  our  scheme.  It  made 
Rockefeller's  little  kerosene  speculation  look 
like  a  bucket  shop.  But  wre  lost  out." 

"Some  unforeseen  opposition  came  up,  I 
suppose,"  I  said. 

"No,  sir,  it  was  just  as  I  said.  We  were 
self-curbed.  It  was  a  case  of  auto-suppression. 
There  was  a  rift  within  the  loot,  as  Albert 
Tennyson  says. 

"You  remember  I  told  you  that  me  and  Andy 
Tucker  was  partners  for  some  years.  That  man 
was  the  most  talented  conniver  at  stratagems 
I  ever  saw.  Whenever  he  saw  a  dollar  in 
another  man's  hands  he  took  it  as  a  personal 
grudge,  if  he  couldn't  take  it  any  other  way. 
Andy  was  educated,  too,  besides  having  a  lot  of 
useful  information.  He  had  acquired  a  big 
amount  of  experience  out  of  books,  and  could 
talk  for  hours  on  any  subject  connected  with 
ideas  and  discourse.  He  had  been  in  every 
line  of  graft  from  lecturing  on  Palestine  with 
a  lot  of  magic  lantern  pictures  of  the  annual 
Custom-made  Clothiers'  Association  convention 
at  Atlantic  City  to  flooding  Connecticut  with 
bogus  wood  alcohol  distilled  from  nutmegs. 


THE  OCTOPUS  MAROONED  3 

"One  Spring  me  and  Andy  had  been  over  in 
Mexico  on  a  flying  trip  during  which  a  Phila 
delphia  capitalist  had  paid  us  $2,500  for  a  half 
interest  in  a  silver  mine  in  Chihuahua.  Oh, 
yes,  the  mine  was  all  right.  The  other  half 
interest  must  have  been  worth  two  or  three 
hundred  thousand.  I  often  wondered  who 
owned  that  mine. 

"In  coming  back  to  the  United  States  me  and 
Andy  stubbed  our  toes  against  a  little  town  in 
Texas  on  the  bank  of  the  Rio  Grande.  The 
name  of  it  was  Bird  City;  but  it  wasn't.  The 
town  had  about  2,000  inhabitants,  mostly  men. 
I  figured  out  that  their  principal  means  of 
existence  was  in  living  close  to  tall  chaparral. 
Some  of  'em  were  stockmen  and  some  gamblers 
and  some  horse  peculators  and  plenty  were 
in  the  smuggling  line.  Me  and  Andy  put  up  at 
a  hotel  that  was  built  like  something  between 
a  roof-garden  and  a  sectional  bookcase.  It 
began  to  rain  the  day  we  got  there.  As  the 
saying  is,  Juniper  Aquarius  was  sure  turning 
on  the  water  plugs  on  Mount  Amphibious. 

"Now,  there  were  three  saloons  in  Bird  City, 
though  neither  Andy  nor  me  drank.  But  we 
could  see  the  townspeople  making  a  triangular 
procession  from  one  to  another  all  day  and  half 
the  night.  Everybody  seemed  to  know  what  to 
do  with  as  much  money  as  they  had. 

"The  third  day  of  the  rain  it  slacked  up 
awhile  in  the  afternoon,  so  me  and  Andy  walked 
out  to  the  edge  of  the  town  to  view  the  mud- 
scape.  Bird  City  was  built  between  the  Rio 
Grande  and  a  deep  wide  arroyo  that  used  to  be 


4  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

the  old  bed  of  the  river.  The  bank  between 
the  stream  and  its  old  bed  was  cracking  and 
giving  away,  when  we  saw  it,  on  account  of 
the  high  water  caused  by  the  rain.  Andy  looks 
at  it  a  long  time.  That  man's  intellects  was 
never  idle.  And  then  he  unfolds  to  me  a 
instantaneous  idea  that  has  occurred  to  him. 
Right  there  was  organized  a  trust;  and  we 
walked  back  into  town  and  put  it  on  the  market. 

"First  we  went  to  the  main  saloon  in  Bird 
City,  called  the  Blue  Snake,  and  bought  it. 
It  cost  us  $1,200.  And  then  we  dropped  in, 
casual,  at  Mexican  Joe's  place,  referred  to  the 
rain,  and  bought  him  out  for  $500.  The  other 
one  came  easy  at  $400. 

"The  next  morning  Bird  City  woke  up  and 
found  itself  an  island.  The  river  had  busted 
through  its  old  channel,  and  the  town  was 
surrounded  by  roaring  torrents.  The  rain 
was  still  raining,  and  there  was  heavy  clouds  in 
the  northwest  that  presaged  about  six  more 
mean  annual  rainfalls  during  the  next  two 
weeks.  But  the  worst  was  yet  to  come. 

"Bird  City  hopped  out  of  its  nest,  waggled 
its  pin  feathers  and  strolled  out  for  its  matutinal 
toot.  Lo!  Mexican  Joe's  place  was  closed  and 
likewise  the  other  little  'dobe  life  saving  station. 
So,  naturally  the  body  politic  emits  thirsty 
ejaculations  of  surprise  and  ports  helium  for 
the  Blue  Snake.  And  what  does  it  find  there? 

"Behind  one  end  of  the  bar  sits  Jeffersonian 
Peters,  octopus,  with  a  sixshooter  on  each  side 
of  him,  ready  to  make  change  or  corpses  as  the 
case  may  be.  There  are  three  bartenders; 


6  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

and  on  the  wall  is  a  ten-foot  sign  reading:  'All 
Drinks  One  Dollar/  Andy  sits  on  the  safe 
in  his  neat  blue  suit  and  gold-banded  cigar, 
on  the  lookout  for  emergencies.  The  town 
marshal  is  there  with  two  deputies  to  keep 
order,  having  been  promised  free  drinks  by 
the  trust. 

"Well,  sir,  it  took  Bird  City  just  ten  minutes 
to  realize  that  it  was  in  a  cage.  We  expected 
trouble;  but  there  wasn't  any.  The  citizens 
saw  that  we  had  'em.  The  nearest  railroad 
was  thirty  miles  away;  and  it  would  be  two 
weeks  at  least  before  the  river  would  be  fordable. 
So  they  began  to  cuss,  amiable,  and  throw 
down  dollars  on  the  bar  till  it  sounded  like  a 
selection  on  the  xylophone. 

"There  was  about  1,500  grown-up  adults  in 
Bird  City  that  had  arrived  at  years  of  indis 
cretion;  and  the  majority  of  'em  required  from 
three  to  twenty  drinks  a  day  to  make  life  en 
durable.  The  Blue  Snake  was  the  only  place 
where  they  could  get  'em  till  the  flood  subsided. 
It  was  beautiful  and  simple  as  all  truly  great 
swindles  are. 

"About  ten  o'clock  the  silver  dollars  dropping 
on  the  bar  slowed  down  to  playing  two-steps 
and  marches  instead  of  jigs.  But  I  looked  out 
the  window  and  saw  a  hundred  or  two  of  our 
customers  standing  in  line  at  Bird  City  Savings 
and  Loan  Co.,  and  I  knew  they  were  borrowing 
more  money  to  be  sucked  in  by  the  clammy 
tendrils  of  the  octopus. 

"At  the  fashionable  hour  of  noon  everybody 
went  home  to  dinner.  We  told  the  bartenders 


"Andy  was  especial  inroaded  by  self-esteem' 
7 


8  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

to  take  advantage  of  the  lull,  and  do  the  same. 
Then  me  and  Andy  counted  the  receipts.  We 
had  taken  in  $1,300.  We  calculated  that  if 
Bird  City  would  only  remain  an  island  for  two 
weeks  the  trust  would  be  able  to  endow  the 
Chicago  University  with  a  new  dormitory  of 
padded  cells  for  the  faculty,  and  present  every 
worthy  poor  man  in  Texas  with  a  farm,  provided 
he  furnished  the  site  for  it. 

"Andy  was  especial  inroaded  by  self-esteem 
at  our  success,  the  rudiments  of  the  scheme 
having  originated  in  his  own  surmises  and  premo 
nitions.  He  got  off  the  safe  and  lit  the  biggest 
cigar  in  the  house. 

"Jeff/  says  he,  'I  don't  suppose  that  any 
where  in  the  world  you  could  find  three  cor 
morants  with  brighter  ideas  about  down- 
treading  the  proletariat  than  the  firm  of  Peters, 
Satan  and  Tucker,  incorporated.  We  have  sure 
handed  the  small  consumer  a  giant  blow  in  the 
sole  apoplectic  region.  No?' 

"Well/  says  I,  'it  does  look  as  if  we  would 
have  to  take  up  gastritis  and  golf  or  be  measured 
for  kilts  in  spite  of  ourselves.  This  little  turn 
in  bug  juice  is,  verily,  all  to  the  Skibo.  And 
I  can  stand  it/  says  I.  'I'd  rather  batten  than 
bant  any  day.' 

"Andy  pours  himself  out  four  fingers  of  our 
best  rye  and  does  with  it  as  was  so  intended. 
It  was  the  first  drink  I  had  ever  known  him  to 
take. 

'  'By  way  of  liberation/  says  he,  '  to  the  gods.' 

"And  then  after  thus  doing  umbrage  to  the 
heathen  diabetes  he  drinks  another  to  our 


THE  OCTOPUS  MAROONED  9 

success.  And  then  he  begins  to  toast  the  trade, 
beginning  with  Raisuli  and  the  Northern  Pacific, 
and  on  down  the  line  to  the  little  ones  like  the 
school  book  combine  and  the  oleomargarine 
outrages  and  the  Lehigh  Valley  and  Great  Scott 
Coal  Federation. 

"'It's  all  right  Andy,'  says  I,  'to  drink  the 
health  of  our  brother  monopolists,  but  don't 
overdo  the  wassail.  You  know  our  most 
eminent  and  loathed  multi-corruptionists  live 
on  weak  tea  and  dog  biscuits.' 

"Andy  went  in  the  back  room  awhile  and 
came  out  dressed  in  his  best  clothes.  There 
was  a  kind  of  murderous  and  soulful  look  of 
gentle  riotousness  in  his  eye  that  I  didn't  like. 
I  watched  him  to  see  what  turn  the  whiskey  was 
going  to  take  in  him.  There  are  two  times 
when  you  never  can  tell  what  is  going  to  happen. 
One  is  when  a  man  takes  his  first  drink;  and 
the  other  is  when  a  woman  takes  her  latest. 

"In  less  than  an  hour  Andy's  skate  had 
turned  to  an  ice  yacht.  He  was  outwardly 
decent  and  managed  to  preserve  his  aquarium, 
but  inside  he  was  impromptu  and  full  of  un 
expectedness. 

"Jeff/  says  he,  'do  you  know  that  I'm  a 
crater — a  living  crater?' 

"'That's  a  self-evident  hypothesis,'  says  I. 
'But  you're  not  Irish.  Why  don't  you  say 
"creature,"  according  to  the  rules  and  syntax 
of  America?' 

"I'm  the  crater  of  a  volcano,' says  he.  'I'm 
all  aflame  and  crammed  inside  with  an  assort 
ment  of  words  and  phrases  that  have  got  to  have 


io  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

an  exodus.  I  can  feel  millions  of  synonyms 
and  parts  of  speech  rising  in  me,'  says  he,  'and 
I've  got  to  make  a  speech  of  some  sort.  Drink/ 
says  Andy,  'always  drives  me  to  oratory.' 

"It  could  do  no  worse,'  says  I. 

"From  my  earliest  recollections,'  says  he, 
'alcohol  seemed  to  stimulate  my  sense  of  reci 
tation  and  rhetoric.  Why,  in  Bryan's  second 
campaign,'  says  Andy,  'they  used  to  give  me 
three  gin  rickeys  and  I'd  speak  for  two  hours 
longer  than  Billy  himself  could  on  the  silver 
question.  Finally  they  persuaded  me  to  take 
the  gold  cure.' 

"If  you've  got  to  get  rid  of  your  excess 
verbiage,'  says  I,  'why  not  go  out  on  the  river 
bank  and  speak  a  piece?  It  seems  to  me  there 
was  an  old  spell-binder  named  Cantharides 
that  used  to  go  and  disincorporate  himself 
of  his  windy  numbers  along  the  seashore.' 

"No,'  says  Andy,  'I  must  have  an  audience. 
I  feel  like  if  I  once  turned  loose  people  would 
begin  to  call  Senator  Beveridge  the  Grand 
Young  Sphinx  of  the  Wabash.  I've  got  to  get 
an  audience  together,  Jeff,  and  get  this  oral 
distension  assuaged  or  it  may  turn  in  on  me 
and  I'd  go  about  feeling  like  a  deckle-edge 
edition  de  luxe  of  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth.' 
"'On  what  special  subject  of  the  theorems 
and  topics  does  your  desire  for  vocality  seem 
to  be  connected  with?'  I  asks. 

"I  ain't  particular,'  says  Andy.  'I  am 
equally  good  and  varicose  on  all  subjects.  I 
can  take  up  the  matter  of  Russian  immigration, 
or  the  poetry  of  John  W.  Keats,  or  the  tariff, 


THE  OCTOPUS  MAROONED  11 

or  Kabyle  literature,  or  drainage,  and  make 
my  audience  weep,  cry,  sob  and  shed  tears  by 
turns/ 

"Well,  Andy,'  says  I,  'if  you  are  bound  to  get 
rid  of  this  accumulation  of  vernacular  suppose 
you  go  out  in  town  and  work  it  on  some  in 
dulgent  citizen.  Me  and  the  boys  will  take 
care  of  the  business.  Everybody  will  be 
through  dinner  pretty  soon,  and  salt  pork  and 
beans  makes  a  man  pretty  thirsty.  We  ought 
to  take  in  $1,500  more  by  midnight/ 

"So  Andy  goes  out  of  the  Blue  Snake,  and 
I  see  him  stopping  men  on  the  street  and  talking 
to  'em.  By  and  by  he  has  half  a  dozen  in  a 
bunch  listening  to  him;  and  pretty  soon  I  see 
him  waving  his  arms  and  elocuting  at  a  good- 
sized  crowd  on  a  corner.  When  he  walks  away 
they  string  out  after  him,  talking  all  the  time ;  and 
he  leads  'em  down  the  main  street  of  Bird  City 
with  more  men  joining  the  procession  as  they 
go.  It  reminded  me  of  the  old  legerdemain  that 
I'd  read  in  books  about  the  Pied  Piper  of  Heid- 
sieck  charming  the  children  away  from  the 
town. 

"One  o'clock  came;  and  then  two,  and  three 
got  under  the  wire  for  place;  and  not  a  Bird 
citizen  came  in  for  a  drink.  The  streets  were 
deserted  except  for  some  ducks  and  ladies  going 
to  the  stores.  There  was  only  a  light  drizzle 
falling  then. 

"A  lonesome  man  came  along  and  stopped  in 
front  of  the  Blue  Snake  to  scrape  the  mud  off 
his  boots. 

"'Pardner,'    says    I,    'what    has    happened? 


12 


THE  OCTOPUS  MAROONED  13 

This  morning  there  was  hectic  gaiety  afoot;  and 
now  it  seems  more  like  one  of  them  ruined  cities 
of  Tyre  and  Siphon  where  the  lone  lizard 
crawls  on  the  walls  of  the  main  port-cullis.' 

"'The  whole  town,'  says  the  muddy  man,  'is 
up  in  Sperry's  wool  warehouse  listening  to  your 
side-kicker  make  a  speech.  He  is  some  gravy 
on  delivering  himself  of  audible  sounds  relating 
to  matters  and  conclusions,'  says  the  man. 

"Well,  I  hope  he'll  adjourn,  sine  qua  non, 
pretty  soon,'  says  I,  'for  trade  languishes.' 

"Not  a  customer  did  we  have  that  afternoon. 
At  six  o'clock  two  Mexicans  brought  Andy  to 
the  saloon  lying  across  the  back  of  a  burro. 
We  put  him  to  bed  while  he  still  muttered  and 
gesticulated  with  his  hands  and  feet. 

"Then  I  locked  up  the  cash  and  went  out 
to  see  what  had  happened.  I  met  a  man  who 
told  me  all  about  it.  Andy  had  made  the 
finest  two  hour  speech  that  had  ever  been  heard 
in  Texas,  he  said,  or  anywhere  else  in  the  world. 

"What  was  it  about?'  I  asked. 

"Temperance,'  says  he.  'And  when  he  got 
through,  every  man  in  Bird  City  signed  the 
pledge  for  a  year.'" 


JEFF  PETERS  AS  A  PERSONAL  MAGNET 

JEFF  PETERS  has  been  engaged  in  as  many 
schemes  for  making  money  as  there  are  recipes 
for  cooking  rice  in  Charleston,  S.  C. 

Best  of  all  I  like  to  hear  him  tell  of  his  earlier 
days  when  he  sold  liniments  and  cough  cures  on 
street  corners,  living  hand  to  mouth,  heart  to 
heart  with  the  people,  throwing  heads  or  tails 
with  fortune  for  his  last  coin. 

"I  struck  Fisher  Hill,  Arkansaw,"  said  he, 
"in  buckskin  suit,  moccasins,  long  hair  and  a 
thirty-carat  diamond  ring  that  I  got  from  an 
actor  in  Texarkana.  I  don't  know  what  he 
ever  did  with  the  pocket  knife  I  swapped  him 
for  it. 

"I  was  Dr.  Waugh-hoo,  the  celebrated  Indian 
medicine  man.  I  carried  only  one  best  bet 
just  then,  and  that  was  Resurrection  Bitters. 
It  was  made  of  life-giving  plants  and  herbs 
accidentally  discovered  by  Ta-qua-la,  the  beau 
tiful  wife  of  the  chief  of  the  Choctaw  Nation, 
while  gathering  truck  to  garnish  a  platter  of 
boiled  dog  for  the  annual  corn  dance. 

"Business  hadn't  been  good  at  the  last  town, 
so  I  only  had  five  dollars.  I  went  to  the  Fisher 
Hill  druggist  and  he  credited  me  for  half  a  gross 
of  eight  ounce  bottles  and  corks.  I  had  the 
labels  and  ingredients  in  my  valise,  left  over 

14 


"Life  began  to  look  rosy  again" 
IS 


i6 


THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 


from  the  last  town.  Life  began  to  look  rosy 
again  after  I  got  in  my  hotel  room  with  the 
water  running  from  the  tap,  and  the  Resurrec 
tion  Bitters  lining  up  on  the  table  by  the  dozen. 
"Fake?  No,  sir.  There  was  two  dollars' 
worth  of  fluid  extract  of  cinchona  and  a  dime's 


"/  commenced  selling  the  bitters  on  Main  Street" 

worth  of  aniline  in  that  half-gross  of  bitters. 
I've  gone  through  towns  years  afterwards  and 
had  folks  ask  for  'em  again. 

"I  hired  a  wagon  that  night  and  commenced 
selling  the  bitters  on  Main  Street.     Fisher  Hill 


JEFF  PETERS  AS  A  PERSONAL  MAGNET   17 

was  a  low,  malarial  town;  and  a  compound  hypo 
thetical  pneumo-cardiac  anti-scorbutic  tonic 
was  just  what  I  diagnosed  the  crowd  as  needing. 
The  bitters  started  off  like  sweetbreads-on-toast 
at  a  vegetarian  dinner.  I  had  sold  two  dozen 
at  fifty  cents  apiece  when  I  felt  somebody  pull 
my  coat  tail.  I  knew  what  that  meant;  so 
I  climbed  dowrn  and  sneaked  a  five-dollar  bill 
into  the  hand  of  a  man  with  a  German  silver 
star  on  his  lapel. 

"'Constable,'  says  I,  'it's  a  fine  night.' 

"'Have  you  got  a  city  license,'  he  asks,  'to 
sell  this  illegitimate  essence  of  spooju  that  you 
flatter  by  the  name  of  medicine?' 

"  'I  have  not,'  says  I.  '  I  didn't  know  you  had 
a  city.  If  I  can  find  it  to-morrow  I'll  take  one 
out  if  it's  necessary.' 

"Til  have  to  close  you  up  till  you  do,'  says 
the  constable. 

"I  quit  selling  and  went  back  to  the  hotel. 
I  was  talking  to  the  landlord  about  it. 

'"Oh,  you  won't  stand  no  show  in  Fisher 
Hill,'  says  he.  'Dr.  Hoskins,  the  only  doctor 
here,  is  a  brother-in-law  of  the  Mayor,  and  they 
won't  allow  no  fake  doctor  to  practice  in  town.' 

"  'I  don't  practice  medicine,'  says  I, '  I've  got  a 
State  peddler's  license,  and  I  take  out  a  city  one 
wherever  they  demand  it.' 

"I  went  to  the  Mayor's  office  the  next  morn 
ing  and  they  told  me  he  hadn't  showed  up  yet. 
They  didn't  know  when  he'd  be  down.  So  Doc 
Waugh-hoo  hunches  down  again  in  a  hotel  chair 
and  lights  a  jimpson-weed  regalia,  and  waits. 

"By  and  by  a  young  man  in  a  blue  necktie 


1 8  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

slips  into  the  chair  next  to  me  and  asks  the  time. 

'"Half-past  ten,'  says  I,  'and  you  are  Andy 
Tucker.  I've  seen  you  work.  Wasn't  it  you 
that  put  up  the  Great  Cupid  Combination 
package  on  the  Southern  States?  Let's  see, 
it  was  a  Chilian  diamond  engagement  ring, 
a  wedding  ring,  a  potato  masher,  a  bottle  of 
soothing  syrup  and  Dorothy  Vernon — all  for 
fifty  cents.' 

"Andy  was  pleased  to  hear  that  I  remembered 
him.  He  was  a  good  street  man;  and  he  was 
more  than  that — he  respected  his  profession, 
and  he  was  satisfied  with  300  per  cent,  profit. 
He  had  plenty  of  offers  to  go  into  the  illegitimate 
drug  and  garden  seed  business;  but  he  was  never 
to  be  tempted  off  of  the  straight  path. 

"I  wanted  a  partner,  so  Andy  and  me  agreed 
to  go  out  together.  I  told  him  about  the 
situation  in  Fisher  Hill  and  how  finances  was 
low  on  account  of  the  local  mixture  of  politics 
and  jalap.  Andy  had  just  got  in  on  the  train 
that  morning.  He  was  pretty  low  himself,  and 
was  going  to  canvass  the  town  for  a  few  dollars 
to  build  a  new  battleship  by  popular  subscrip 
tion  at  Eureka  Springs.  So  we  went  out  and 
sat  on  the  porch  and  talked  it  over. 

"The  next  morning  at  eleven  o'clock  when 
I  was  sitting  there  alone,  an  Uncle  Tom  shuffles 
into  the  hotel  and  asked  for  the  doctor  to  come 
and  see  Judge  Banks,  who,  it  seems,  was  the 
mayor  and  a  mighty  sick  man. 

"'I'm  no  doctor,'  says  I.  'Why  don't  you  go 
and  get  the  doctor?' 

"'Boss,'   says   he.     'Doc   Hoskins   am   done 


JEFF  PETERS  AS  A  PERSONAL  MAGNET   19 

gone  twenty  miles  in  the  country  to  see  some 
sick  persons.  He's  de  only  doctor  in  de  town, 
and  Massa  Banks  am  powerful  bad  off.  He  sent 
me  to  ax  you  to  please,  suh,  come.' 

"'As  man  to  man,'  says  I,  Til  go  and  look  him 
over.'  So  I  put  a  bottle  of  Resurrection  Bitters 
in  my  pocket  and  goes  up  on  the  hill  to  the 
mayor's  mansion,  the  finest  house  in  town,  with 
a  mansard  roof  and  two  cast-iron  dogs  on  the 
lawn. 

"This  Mayor  Banks  was  in  bed  all  but  his 
whiskers  and  feet.  He  was  making  internal 
noises  that  would  have  had  everybody  in  San 
Francisco  hiking  for  the  parks.  A  young  man 
was  standing  by  the  bed  holding  a  cup  of  water. 

"  'Doc,'  says  the  Mayor,  'I'm  awful  sick.  I'm 
about  to  die.  Can't  you  do  nothing  for  me?' 

:"Mr.  Mayor,'  says  I,  'I'm  not  a  regular 
preordained  disciple  of  S.  Q.  Lapius.  I  never 
took  a  course  in  a  medical  college,'  says  I.  'I've 
just  come  as  a  fellow  man  to  see  if  I  could  be  of 
assistance.' 

"  'I'm  deeply  obliged,'  says  he.  '  Doc  Waugh- 
hoo,  this  is  my  nephew,  Mr.  Biddle.  He  has 
tried  to  alleviate  my  distress,  but  without 
success.  Oh,  Lordy!  Ow-ow-ow!!'  he  sings 
out. 

"I  nods  at  Mr.  Biddle  and  sets  down  by  the 
bed  and  feels  the  mayor's  pulse.  'Let  me  see 
your  liver — your  tongue,  I  mean,'  says  I.  Then 
I  turns  up  the  lids  of  his  eyes  and  looks  close 
at  the  pupils  of  'em. 

"How  long  have  you  been  sick?'  I  asked. 

"'I  was  taken  down — ow-ouch — last  night,' 


20  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

says   the   Mayor.     'Gimme   something   for   it, 
doc,  won't  you?' 

"Mr.  Fiddle,'  says  I,  'raise  the  window 
shade  a  bit,  will  you?' 

'  'Biddle,'  says  the  young  man.  '  Do  you  feel 
like  you  could  eat  some  ham  and  eggs,  Uncle 
James?' 

"Mr.  Mayor,'  says  I,  after  laying  my  ear  to 
his  right  shoulder  blade  and  listening,  'you've 
got  a  bad  attack  of  super-inflammation  of  the 
right  clavicle  of  the  harpsichord!' 

'"Good  Lord!'  says  he,  with  a  groan,  'Can't 
you  rub  something  on  it,  or  set  it  or  anything?' 

"I  picks  up  my  hat  and  starts  for  the  door. 
"You    ain't   going,    doc?'    says   the    Mayor 
with  a  howl.     'You  ain't  going  away  and  leave 
me  to  die  with  this — superfluity  of  the  clap 
boards,  are  you?' 

"'Common  humanity,  Dr.  Whoa-ha,'  says 
Mr.  Biddle,  'ought  to  prevent  your  deserting 
a  fellow-human  in  distress.' 

"Dr.  Waugh-hoo,  when  you  get  through 
plowing,'  says  I.  And  then  I  walks  back  to  the 
bed  and  throws  back  my  long  hair. 

:"Mr.  Mayor,'  says  I,  'there  is  only  one  hope 
for  you.  Drugs  will  do  you  no  good.  But 
there  is  another  power  higher  yet,  although 
drugs  are  high  enough,'  says  I. 

"'And  what  is  that?'  says  he. 

"'Scientific  demonstrations,'  says  I.  'The 
triumph  of  mind  over  sarsaparilla.  The  belief 
that  there  is  no  pain  and  sickness  except  what  is 
produced  when  we  ain't  feeling  well.  Declare 
yourself  in  arrears.  Demonstrate.' 


JEFF  PETERS  AS  A  PERSONAL  MAGNET   21 

"What  is  this  paraphernalia  you  speak  of, 
Doc?'  says  the  Mayor.  'You  ain't  a  Socialist, 
are  you  ? ' 

"I  am  speaking,'  says  I,  'of  the  great  doc 
trine  of  psychic  financiering — of  the  enlightened 
school  of  long-distance,  sub-conscientious  treat 
ment  of  fallacies  and  meningitis — of  that  won 
derful  in-door  sport  known  as  personal  mag 
netism.' 

'"Can  you  work  it,  Doc?'  asks  the  Mayor. 

"Tm  one  of  the  Sole  Sanhedrims  and  Os 
tensible  Hooplas  of  the  Inner  Pulpit,'  says  I. 
'The  lame  talk  and  the  blind  rubber  whenever 
I  make  a  pass  at  'em.  I  am  a  medium,  a 
coloratura  hypnotist  and  a  spirituous  control. 
It  was  only  through  me  at  the  recent  seances  at 
Ann  Arbor  that  the  late  president  of  the  Vinegar 
Bitters  Company  could  revisit  the  earth  to 
communicate  with  his  sister  Jane.  You  see  me 
peddling  medicine  on  the  streets,'  says  I,  'to 
the  poor.  I  don't  practice  personal  magnetism 
on  them.  I  do  not  drag  it  in  the  dust,'  says  I, 
'because  they  haven't  got  the  dust.' 

"Will  you  treat  my  case?'  asks  the  Mayor. 

"Listen,'  says  I.  'I've  had  a  good  deal  of 
trouble  with  medical  societies  everywhere  I've 
been.  I  don't  practice  medicine.  But,  to  save 
your  life,  I'll  give  you  the  psychic  treatment  if 
you'll  agree  as  mayor  not  to  push  the  license 
question.' 

'"Of  course  I  will,'  says  he.  'And  now  get  to 
work,  Doc,  for  them  pains  are  coming  on  again.' 

"Aly  fee  will  be  $250.00,  cure  guaranteed 
in  two  treatments,'  says  I. 


22  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

"'All  right,' says  the  Mayor.  Til  pay  it.  I 
guess  my  life's  worth  that  much.' 

"I  sat  down  by  the  bed  and  looked  him 
straight  in  the  eye. 

"Now/  says  I,  'get  your  mind  off  the  disease. 
You  ain't  sick.  You  haven't  got  a  heart  or  a 
clavicle  or  a  funny  bone  or  brains  or  anything. 
You  haven't  got  any  pain.  Declare  error. 
Now  you  feel  the  pain  that  you  didn't  have 
leaving,  don't  you?' 

'"I  do  feel  some  little  better,  Doc,'  says  the 
Mayor,  'darned  if  I  don't.  Now  state  a  few 
lies  about  my  not  having  this  swelling  in  my 
left  side,  and  I  think  I  could  be  propped  up  and 
have  some  sausage  and  buckwheat  cakes.' 

"I  made  a  few  passes  with  my  hands. 

"'Now,'  says  I,  'the  inflammation's  gone. 
The  right  lobe  of  the  perihelion  has  subsided. 
You're  getting  sleepy.  You  can't  hold  your  eyes 
open  any  longer.  For  the  present  the  disease 
is  checked.  Now,  you  are  asleep.' 

"The  Mayor  shut  his  eyes  slowly  and  began 
to  snore. 

"You  observe,  Mr.  Tiddle,'  says  I,  'the 
wonders  of  modern  science.' 

'  'Biddle,'  says  he.  'When  will  you  give  uncle 
the  rest  of  the  treatment,  Dr.  Pooh-pooh?' 

"Waugh-hoo,'  says  I.  'I'll  come  back  at 
eleven  to-morrow.  When  he  wakes  up  give  him 
eight  drops  of  turpentine  and  three  pounds  of 
steak.  Good  morning.' 

"The  next  morning  I  went  back  on  time. 
'Well,  Mr.  Riddle,'  says  I,  when  he  opened  the 
bedroom  door,  'and  how  is  uncle  this  morning?' 


JEFF  PETERS  AS  A  PERSONAL  MAGNET   23 

'"He  seems  much  better/  says  the  young 
man. 

"The  Mayor's  color  and  pulse  was  fine.  I 
gave  him  another  treatment,  and  he  said  the 
last  of  the  pain  left  him. 

"'Now/  says  I,  'you'd  better  stay  in  bed  for  a 
day  or  two,  and  you'll  be  all  right.  It's  a  good 
thing  I  happened  to  be  in  Fisher  Hill,  Mr. 
Mayor,'  says  I,  'for  all  the  remedies  in  the 
cornucopia  that  the  regular  schools  of  medicine 
use  couldn't  have  saved  you.  And  now  that 
error  has  flew  and  pain  proved  a  perjurer,  let's 
allude  to  a  cheerfuller  subject — say  the  fee  of 
$250.  No  checks,  please,  I  hate  to  write  my 
name  on  the  back  of  a  check  almost  as  bad  as  I 
do  on  the  front.' 

"'I've  got  the  cash  here,'  says  the  Mayor, 
pulling  a  pocket  book  from  under  his  pillow. 

"He  counts  out  five  fifty-dollar  notes  and 
holds  'em  in  his  hand. 

"Bring  the  receipt,'  he  says  to  Biddle. 

"I  signed  the  receipt  and  the  Mayor  handed 
me  the  money.  I  put  it  in  my  inside  pocket 
careful. 

"Now  do  your  duty,  officer,'  says  the  Mayor, 
grinning  much  unlike  a  sick  man. 

"Mr.  Biddle  lays  his  hand  on  my  arm. 

"You're  under  arrest,  Dr.  Waugh-hoo,  alias 
Peters,'  says  he,  'for  practising  medicine  without 
authority  under  the  State  law.' 

"Who  are  you?'  I  asks. 

"Til  tell  you  who  he  is/  says  the  Mayor, 
sitting  up  in  bed.  'He's  a  detective  employed 
by  the  State  Medical  Society.  He's  been 


JEFF  PETERS  AS  A  PERSONAL  MAGNET  25 

following  you  over  five  counties.  He  came  to 
me  yesterday  and  we  fixed  up  this  scheme  to 
catch  you.  I  guess  you  won't  do  any  more 
doctoring  around  these  parts,  Mr.  Fakir.  What 
was  it  you  said  I  had,  Doc?'  the  Mayor  laughs, 
'compound — well,  it  wasn't  softening  of  the 
brain,  I  guess,  anyway.' 

"'A  detective,'  says  I. 

"'Correct,'  says  Biddle.  Til  have  to  turn 
you  over  to  the  sheriff.' 

"Let's  see  you  do  it,'  says  I,  and  I  grabs 
Biddle  by  the  throat  and  half  throws  him  out 
the  window,  but  he  pulls  a  gun  and  sticks  it 
under  my  chin,  and  I  stand  still.  Then  he  puts 
handcuffs  on  me,  and  takes  the  money  out  of 
my  pocket. 

"I  witness,'  says  he,  'that  they're  the  same 
bills  that  you  and  I  marked,  Judge  Banks.  I'll 
turn  them  over  to  the  sheriff  when  we  get  to  his 
office,  and  he'll  send  you  a  receipt.  They'll 
have  to  be  used  as  evidence  in  the  case.' 

"All  right,  Mr.  Biddle,'  says  the  Mayor. 
'And  now,  Doc  Waugh-hoo,'  he  goes  on,  'why 
don't  you  demonstrate?  Can't  you  pull  the 
cork  out  of  your  magnetism  with  your  teeth 
and  hocus-pocus  them  handcuffs  off?' 

"'Come  on,  officer,'  says  I,  dignified.  'I  may 
as  well  make  the  best  of  it.'  And  then  I  turns 
to  old  Banks  and  rattles  my  chains. 

"'Mr.   Mayor,'  says   I,  'the  time  will  come 
soon   when   you'll   believe  that   personal   mag 
netism  is  a  success.     And  you'll  be  sure  that 
it  succeeded  in  this  case,  too.' 
"And  I  guess  it  did. 


26  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

"When  we  got  nearly  to  the  gate,  I  says: 
'We    might    meet    somebody    now,    Andy.     I 

reckon  you  better  take  'em  off,  and '   Hey? 

Why,  of  course  it  was  Andy  Tucker.  That 
was  his  scheme;  and  that's  how  we  got  the 
capital  to  go  into  business  together." 


MODERN  RURAL  SPORTS 

JEFF  PETERS  must  be  reminded.  Whenever 
he  is  called  upon,  pointedly,  for  a  story,  he  will 
maintain  that  his  life  has  been  as  devoid  of 
incident  as  the  longest  of  Trollope's  novels. 
But  lured,  he  will  divulge.  Therefore  I  cast 
many  and  divers  flies  upon  the  current  of  his 
thoughts  before  I  feel  a  nibble. 

"I  notice,"  said  I,  "that  the  Western  farmers, 
in  spite  of  their  prosperity,  are  running  after 
their  old  populistic  idols  again." 

"It's  the  running  season,"  said  Jeff,  "for 
farmers,  shad,  maple  trees  and  the  Connemaugh 
River.  I  know  something  about  farmers.  I 
thought  I  struck  one  once  that  had  got  out  of 
the  rut;  but  Andy  Tucker  proved  to  me  I  was 
mistaken.  'Once  a  farmer,  always  a  sucker,' 
said  Andy.  'He's  the  man  that's  shoved  into 
the  front  row  among  bullets,  ballots  and  the 
ballet.  He's  the  funny-bone  and  gristle  of  the 
country,'  said  Andy,  '  and  I  don't  know  who  we 
would  do  without  him.' 

"One  morning  me  and  Andy  wakes  up  with 

;  sixty-eight  cents  between  us  in  a  yellow  pine 

hotel  on  the  edge  of  the  predigested  hoe-cake 

belt  of  Southern  Indiana.     How  we  got  off  the 

train  there  the  night  before  I  can't  tell  you; 

27 


28  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

for  she  went  through  the  village  so  fast  that 
what  looked  like  a  saloon  to  us  through  the  car 
window  turned  out  to  be  a  composite  view  of 
a  drug  store  and  a  water  tank  two  blocks  apart. 
Why  we  got  off  at  the  first  station  we  could, 
belongs  to  a  little  oroide  gold  watch  and  Alaska 
diamond  deal  we  failed  to  pull  off  the  day  before, 
over  the  Kentucky  line. 

"When  I  woke  up  I  heard  roosters  crowing, 
and  smelt  something  like  the  fumes  of  nitro- 
muriatic  acid  and  heard  something  heavy  fall 
on  the  floor  below  us,  and  a  man  swearing. 

" 'Cheer  up,  Andy,'  says  I.  'We're  in  a  rural 
community.  Somebody  has  just  tested  a  gold 
brick  downstairs.  We'll  go  out  and  get  what's 
coming  to  us  from  a  farmer;  and  then  yoicks! 
and  away.' 

"Farmers  was  always  a  kind  of  reserve  fund 
to  me.  Whenever  I  was  in  hard  luck  I'd  go 
to  the  crossroads,  hook  a  finger  in  a  farmer's 
suspender,  recite  the  prospectus  of  my  swindle 
in  a  mechanical  kind  of  a  way,  look  over  what 
he  had,  give  him  back  his  keys,  whetstone, 
and  papers  that  was  of  no  value  except  to 
owner,  and  stroll  away  without  asking  any 
questions.  Farmers  are  not  fair  game  to  me 
as  high  up  in  our  business  as  me  and  Andy  was; 
but  there  was  times  when  we  found  'em  useful 
just  as  Wall  Street  does  the  Secretary  of  the 
Treasury  now  and  then. 

"When  we  went  downstairs  we  saw  we  was 
in  the  midst  of  the  finest  farming  section  we  ever 
see.  About  two  miles  away  on  a  hill  was  a  big 
white  house  in  a  grove  surrounded  by  a  wide- 


MODERN  RURAL  SPORTS  29 

spread  agricultural  agglomeration  of  fields  and 
barns  and  pastures  and  out-houses. 

"'Whose  house  is  that?'  we  asked  the  land 
lord. 

"'That,'  says  he,  'is  the  domicile  and  the  ar 
boreal,  terrestrial  and  horticultural  accessories 
of  Farmer  Ezra  Plunkett,  one  of  our  county's 
most  progressive  citizens.' 

"After  breakfast  me  and  Andy,  with  eight 
cents  capital  left,  casts  the  horoscope  of  the 
rural  potentate. 

'"Let  me  go  alone,'  says  I.  'Two  of  us 
against  one  farmer  would  look  as  one-sided  as 
Roosevelt  using  both  hands  to  kill  a  grizzly.' 

"'All  right,'  says  Andy.  'I  like  to  be  a  true 
sport  even  when  I'm  only  collecting  rebates  from 
the  rutabag  raisers.  What  bait  are  you  going 
to  use  for  this  Ezra  thing?'  Andy  asks  me. 

"'Oh,'  says  I,  'the  first  thing  that  come  to 
hand  in  the  suit  case.  I  reckon  I'll  take  along 
some  of  the  new  income  tax  receipts;  and  the 
recipe  for  making  clover  honey  out  of  clabber 
and  apple  peelings;  and  the  order  blanks  for  the 
McGufFey's  readers,  which  afterwards  turn  out 
to  be  McCormick  reapers;  and  the  pearl  neck 
lace  found  on  the  train;  and  a  pocket-size  gold- 
brick;  and  a ' 

'"That'll  be  enough,'  says  Andy.  'Any  one 
of  the  lot  ought  to  land  on  Ezra.  And,  say, 
Jeff,  make  that  succotash  fancier  give  you  nice, 
clean,  new  bills.  It's  a  disgrace  to  our  Depart 
ment  of  Agriculture,  Civil  Service  and  Pure 
Food  Law  the  kind  of  stuff  some  of  these  farm 
ers  hand  out  to  us.  I've  had  to  take  rolls  from 


3o  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

'em  that  looked  like  bundles  of  microbe  cultures 
captured  out  of  a  Red  Cross  ambulance.' 

"  So,  I  goes  to  a  livery  stable  and  hires  a  buggy 
on  my  looks.  I  drove  out  to  the  Plunkett  farm 
and  hitched.  There  was  a  man  sitting  on  the 
front  steps  of  the  house.  He  had  on  a  white 
flannel  suit,  a  diamond  ring,  golf  cap  and  a  pink 
ascot  tie.  'Summer  boarder,'  says  I  to  myself. 

"I'd  like  to  see  Farmer  Ezra  Plunkett,'  says  I 
to  him. 

"You  see  him,'  says  he.  'What  seems  to  be 
on  your  mind?' 

"I  never  answered  a  word.  I  stood  still, 
repeating  to  myself  the  rollicking  lines  of  that 
merry  jingle,  'The  Man  with  the  Hoe.'  When 
I  looked  at  this  farmer,  the  little  devices  I  had 
in  my  pocket  for  buncoing  the  pushed-back 
brows  seemed  as  hopeless  as  trying  to  shake 
down  the  Beef  Trust  with  a  mittimus  and  a 
parlor  rifle. 

'  'Well,'  says  he,  looking  at  me  close,  'speak  up. 
I  see  the  left  pocket  of  your  coat  sags  a  good 
deal.  Out  with  the  goldbrick  first.  I'm  rather 
more  interested  in  the  bricks  that  I  am  in  the 
trick  sixty-day  notes  and  the  lost  silver  mine 
story.' 

"I  had  a  kind  of  cerebral  sensation  of  foolish 
ness  in  my  ideas  of  ratiocination;  but  I  pulled 
out  the  little  brick  and  unwrapped  my  hand 
kerchief  off  it. 

'"One  dollar  and  eighty  cents,'  says  the 
farmer,  hefting  it  in  his  hand.  'Is  it  a  trade?' 

"The  lead  in  it  is  worth  more  than  that,' 
says  I,  dignified.  I  put  it  back  in  my  pocket. 


MODERN  RURAL  SPORTS  31 

"'All  right,'  says  he.  'But  I  sort  of  wanted 
it  for  the  collection  I'm  starting.  I  got  a  $5,000 
one  last  week  for  $2.10.' 

"Just  then  a  telephone  bell  rings  in  the  house. 

"'Come  in,  Bunk,'  says  the  farmer,  'and  look 
at  my  place.  It's  kind  of  lonesome  here  some 
times.  I  think  that's  New  York  calling.' 

"We  \vent  inside.  The  room  looked  like  a 
Broadway  stockbroker's — light-oak  desks,  two 
'phones,  Spanish  leather  upholstered  chairs 
and  couches,  oil  paintings  in  gilt  frames  a  foot 
deep  and  a  ticker  hitting  off  the  news  in  one 
corner. 

"'Hello,  hello!'  says  the  funny  farmer.  'Is 
that  the  Regent  Theatre  ?  Yes ;  this  is  Plunkett, 
of  Woodbine  Centre.  Reserve  four  orchestra 
seats  for  Friday  evening — my  usual  ones.  Yes; 
Friday — good-bye.' 

'  'I  run  over  to  New  York  every  two  weeks  to 
see  a  show,'  says  the  farmer,  hanging  up  the 
receiver.  'I  catch  the  eighteen-hour  flyer  at 
Indianapolis,  spend  ten  hours  in  the  heyday  of 
night  on  the  Yappian  Way,  and  get  home  in 
time  to  see  the  chickens  go  to  roost  forty-eight 
hours  later.  Oh,  the  pristine  Hubbard  squash- 
erino  of  the  cave-dwelling  period  is  getting 
geared  up  some  for  the  annual  meeting  of  the 
T)on't-Blow-Out-the-Gas  Association,  don't  you 
think,  Mr.  Bunk?' 

"I  seem  to  perceive,'  says  I,  'a  kind  of 
hiatus  in  the  agrarian  traditions  in  which, 
heretofore,  I  have  reposed  confidence.' 

'"Sure,  Bunk,'  says  he.  'The  yellow  prim 
rose  on  the  river's  brim  is  getting  to  look  to  us 


32  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

Reubs  like  a  holiday  edition  de  luxe  of  the 
Language  of  Flowers  with  deckle  edges  and 
frontispiece.' 

"Just  then  the  telephone  calls  him  again. 

"'Hello,  hello!'  says  he.  'Oh,  that's  Perkins, 
at  Milldale.  I  told  you  $800  was  too  much  for 
that  horse.  Have  you  got  him  there?  Good. 
Let  me  see  him.  Get  away  from  the  trans 
mitter.  Now  make  him  trot  in  a  circle.  Faster. 
Yes,  I  can  hear  him.  Keep  on — faster  yet. 
.  .  .  That'll  do.  Now  lead  him  up  to  the 
phone.  Closer.  Get  his  nose  nearer.  There. 
Now  wait.  No;  I  don't  want  that  horse. 
What?  No;  not  at  any  price.  He  interferes; 
and  he's  windbroken.  Good-bye.' 

"'Now,  Bunk,'  says  the  farmer,  'do  you 
begin  to  realize  that  agriculture  has  had  a  hair 
cut  ?  You  belong  in  a  bygone  era.  Why,  Tom 
Lawson  himself  knows  better  than  to  try  to 
catch  an  up-to-date  agriculturist  napping. 
It's  Saturday,  the  Fourteenth,  on  the  farm, 
you  bet.  Now,  look  here,  and  see  how  we  keep 
up  with  the  day's  doings.' 

"He  shows  me  a  machine  on  a  table  with  two 
things  for  your  ears  like  the  penny-m-the-slot 
affairs.  I  puts  it  on  and  listens.  A  female  voice 
starts  up  reading  headlines  of  murders,  accidents, 
and  other  political  casualties. 

"What  you  hear,'  says  the  farmer,  'is  a 
synopsis  of  to-day's  news  in  the  New  York, 
Chicago,  St.  Louis  and  San  Francisco  papers. 
It  is  wired  in  to  our  Rural  News  Bureau  and 
served  hot  to  subscribers.  On  this  table  you  see 
the  principal  dailies  and  weeklies  of  the  country, 


MODERN  RURAL  SPORTS  33 

Also  a  special  service  of  advance  sheets  of  the 
monthly  magazines.' 

"I  picks  up  one  sheet  and  sees  that  it's 
headed:  'Special  Advance  Proofs.  In  July, 
1909,  the  Century  will  say' — and  so  forth. 

"The  farmer  rings  up  somebody — his  mana 
ger,  I  reckon — and  tells  him  to  let  that  herd  of 
15  Jerseys  go  at  $600  a  head;  and  to  sow  the 
9OO-acre  field  in  wheat;  and  to  have  200  extra 
cans  ready  at  the  station  for  the  milk  trolley  car. 
Then  he  passes  the  Henry  Clays  and  sets  out  a 
bottle  of  green  chartreuse,  and  goes  over  and 
looks  at  the  ticker  tape. 

"'Consolidated  Gas  up  two  points,'  says  he. 
'Oh,  very  well.' 

"Ever  monkey  with  copper?'  I  asks. 

"'Stand  back!'  says  he,  raising  his  hand, 
'or  I'll  call  the  dog.  I  told  you  not  to  waste 
your  time.' 

"After  a  while  he  says:  'Bunk,  if  you  don't 
mind  my  telling  you,  your  company  begins 
to  cloy  slightly.  I've  got  to  write  an  article 
on  the  Chimera  of  Communism  for  a  magazine, 
and  attend  a  meeting  of  the  Race  Track  Associ 
ation  this  afternoon.  Of  course  you  understand 
by  now  that  you  can't  get  my  proxy  for  your 
Remedy,  whatever  it  may  be.' 

"Well,  sir,  all  I  could  think  of  to  do  was  to  go 
out  and  get  in  the  buggy.  The  horse  turned 
round  and  took  me  back  to  the  hotel.  I  hitched 
him  and  went  in  to  see  Andy.  In  his  room 
I  told  him  about  this  farmer,  word  for  word; 
and  I  sat  picking  at  the  table  cover  like  one 
bereft  of  sagaciousness. 


34  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

"'I  don't  understand  it,'  says  I,  humming  a 
sad  and  foolish  little  song  to  cover  my 
humiliation. 

"Andy  walks  up  and  down  the  room  for  a  long 
time,  biting  the  left  end  of  his  mustache  as  he 
does  when  in  the  act  of  thinking. 

"'Jeff,'  says  he,  finally,  'I  believe  your  story 
of  this  expurgated  rustic;  but  I  am  not  con 
vinced.  It  looks  incredulous  to  me  that  he 
could  not  have  inoculated  himself  against  all 
the  preordained  systems  of  bucolic  bunco. 
Now,  you  never  regarded  me  as  a  man  of  spe 
cial  religious  proclivities,  did  you,  Jeff?'  says 
Andy. 

"'Well,'  says  I,  'No.  But,'  says  I,  not  to 
wound  his  feelings,  'I  have  also  observed  many 
church  members  whose  said  proclivities  were 
not  so  outwardly  developed  that  they  would 
show  on  a  white  handkerchief  if  you  rubbed  'em 
with  it.' 

"I  have  always  been  a  deep  student  of  nature 
from  creation  down,'  says  Andy,  'and  I  believt 
in  an  ultimatum  design  of  Providence.  Farm 
ers  was  made  for  a  purpose;  and  that  was  to 
furnish  a  livelihood  to  men  like  me  and  you. 
Else  why  was  we  given  brains?  It  is  my  belief 
that  the  manna  that  the  Israelites  lived  on  for 
forty  years  in  the  wilderness  was  only  a  figur 
ative  word  for  farmers;  and  they  kept  up  the 
practice  to  this  day.  And  now,'  says  Andy,  'I 
am  going  to  test  my  theory  "Once  a  farmer, 
always  a  come-on,"  in  spite  of  the  veneering  and 
the  orifices  that  a  spurious  civilization  has 
brought  to  him.' 


MODERN  RURAL  SPORTS  35 

'"You'll  fail,  same  as  I  did,'  says  I.  'This 
one's  shook  off  the  shackles  of  the  sheep-fold. 
He's  entrenched  behind  the  advantages  of 
electricity,  education,  literature  and  intel 
ligence.' 

"Til  try,'  said  Andy.  'There  are  certain 
Laws  of  Nature  that  Free  Rural  Delivery  can't 
overcome.' 

"Andy  fumbles  around  awhile  in  the  closet 
and  comes  out  dressed  in  a  suit  with  brown  and 
yellow  checks  as  big  as  your  hand.  His  vest 
is  red  with  blue  dots,  and  he  wears  a  high  silk 
hat.  I  noticed  he'd  soaked  his  sandy  mustache 
in  a  kind  of  blue  ink. 

"'Great  Barnums?'  says  I.  'You're  a  ringer 
for  a  circus  thimblerig  man.' 

"Right/  says  Andy.  'Is  the  buggy  outside? 
Wait  here  till  I  come  back.  I  won't  be  long.' 

"Two  hours  afterwards  Andy  steps  in  the 
room  and  lays  a  wad  of  money  on  the  table. 

"'Eight  hundred  and  sixty  dollars,'  says  he. 
'Let  me  tell  you.  He  was  in.  He  looked  me 
over  and  began  to  guy  me.  I  didn't  say  a  word, 
but  got  out  the  walnut  shells  and  began  to  roll 
the  little  ball  on  the  table.  I  whistled  a  tune 
or  two,  and  then  I  started  up  the  old  formula. 

'"Step  up  lively,  gentlemen,'  says  I,  'and 
watch  the  little  ball.  It  costs  you  nothing  to 
look.  There  you  see  it,  and  there  you  don't. 
Guess  where  the  little  joker  is.  The  quickness 
of  the  hand  deceives  the  eye.' 

"I  steals  a  look  at  the  farmer  man.  I  see  the 
sweat  coming  out  on  his  forehead.  He  goes  over 
and  closes  the  front  door  and  watches  me  some 


36  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

more.  Directly  he  says:  "I'll  bet  you  twenty 
I  can  pick  the  shell  the  ball's  under  now." 

"'After  that,'  goes  on  Andy,  'there  is  nothing 
new  to  relate.  He  only  had  $860  in  cash  in  the 
house.  When  I  left  he  followed  me  to  the  gate. 
There  was  tears  in  his  eyes  wThen  he  shook  hands. 

""'Bunk,'"  says  he,  '"thank  you  for  the  only 
real  pleasure  I've  had  in  years.  It  brings  up 
happy  old  days  when  I  was  only  a  farmer  and 
not  an  agriculturist.  God  bless  you." 

Here  Jeff  Peters  ceased,  and  I  inferred  that 
his  story  was  done. 

"Then  you  think "  I  began. 

"Yes,"  said  Jeff.  "Something  like  that.  You 
let  the  farmers  go  ahead  and  amuse  themselves 
with  politics.  Farming's  a  lonesome  life;  and 
they've  been  against  the  shell  game  before." 


THE    CHAIR   OF  PHILANTHROMATHE- 
MATICS 

I  SEE  that  the  cause  of  Education  has  received 
the  princely  gift  of  more  than  fifty  millions  of 
dollars,"  said  I. 

I  was  gleaning  the  stray  items  from  the 
evening  papers  while  JefF  Peters  packed  his 
briar  pipe  with  plug  cut. 

"Which  same,"  said  JefF,  "calls  for  a  new 
deck,  and  a  recitation  by  the  entire  class  in 
philanthromathematics." 

"Is  that  an  allusion?"  I  asked. 

"It  is,"  said  JefF.  "I  never  told  you  about 
the  time  when  me  and  Andy  Tucker  was  phi 
lanthropists,  did  I?  It  was  eight  years  ago  in 
Arizona.  Andy  and  me  was  out  in  the  Gila 
Mountains  with  a  two-horse  wagon  prospecting 
for  silver.  We  struck  it,  and  sold  out  to  parties 
in  Tucson  for  $25,000.  They  paid  our  check 
at  the  bank  in  silver — a  thousand  dollars  in  a 
sack.  We  loaded  it  in  our  wagon  and  drove 
east  a  hundred  miles  before  we  recovered  our 
presence  of  intellect.  Twenty-five  thousand 
dollars  don't  sound  like  so  much  when  you're 
reading  the  annual  report  of  the  Pennsylvania 
Railroad  or  listening  to  an  actor  talking  about 
his  salary;  but  when  you  can  raise  up  a  wagon 
sheet  and  kick  around  your  bootheel  and  hear 

37 


38  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

every  one  of  'em  ring  against  another  it  makes- 
you  feel  like  you  was  a  night-and-day  bank  with 
the  clock  striking  twelve. 

"The  third  day  we  drove  into  one  of  the  most 
specious  and  tidy  little  towns  that  Nature  or 
Rand  and  McNally  ever  turned  out.  It  was  in 
the  foothills,  and  mitigated  with  trees  and 
flowers  and  about  2,000  head  of  cordial  and 
dilatory  inhabitants.  The  town  seemed  to 
be  called  Floresville,  and  Nature  had  not  con 
taminated  it  with  many  railroads,  fleas  or 
Eastern  tourists. 

"Me  and  Andy  deposited  our  money  to  the 
credit  of  Peters  and  Tucker  in  the  Esperanza 
Savings  Bank,  and  got  rooms  at  the  Skyview 
Hotel.  After  supper  we  lit  up,  and  sat  out  on 
the  gallery  and  smoked.  Then  was  when  the 
philanthropy  idea  struck  me.  I  suppose  every 
grafter  gets  it  sometime. 

"When  a  man  swindles  the  public  out  of  a 
certain  amount  he  begins  to  get  scared  and 
wants  to  return  part  of  it.  And  if  you'll  watch 
close  and  notice  the  way  his  charity  runs  you'll 
see  that  he  tries  to  restore  it  to  the  same  people 
he  got  it  from.  As  a  hydrostatical  case,  take, 
let's  say,  A.  A  made  his  millions  selling  oil 
to  poor  students  who  sit  up  nights  studying 
political  economy  and  methods  for  regulating 
the  trusts.  So,  back  to  the  universities  and 
colleges  goes  his  conscience  dollars. 

"There's  B  got  his  from  the  common  laboring 
man  that  works  with  his  hands  and  tools. 
How's  he  to  get  some  of  the  remorse  fund  back 
into  their  overalls? 


CHAIR  OF  PHILANTHROMATHEMATICS    39 

"'Aha!'  says  B,  Til  do  it  in  the  name  of 
Education.  I've  skinned  the  laboring  man,' 
says  he  to  himself,  'but,  according  to  the  old 
proverb,  "Charity  covers  a  multitude  of  skins." 

"So  he  puts  up  eighty  million  dollars'  worth 
of  libraries;  and  the  boys  with  the  dinner  pail 
that  builds  'em  gets  the  benefit. 

'  'Where's  the  books  ? '  asks  the  reading  public. 

"I  dinna  ken,'  says  B.  'I  offered  ye  li 
braries;  and  there  they  are.  I  suppose  if  I'd 
given  ye  preferred  steel  trust  stock  instead  ye'd 
have  wanted  the  water  in  it  set  out  in  cut  glass 
decanters.  Hoot,  for  ye!' 

"  But,  as  I  said,  the  owning  of  so  much  money 
was  beginning  to  give  me  philanthropitis.  It 
was  the  first  time  me  and  Andy  had  ever  made 
a  pile  big  enough  to  make  us  stop  and  think 
how  we  got  it. 

"'Andy,'  says  I,  'we're  wealthy — not  beyond 
the  dreams  of  average;  but  in  our  humble  way 
we  are  comparatively  as  rich  as  Greasers.  I 
feel  as  if  I'd  like  to  do  something  for  as  well  as 
to  humanity.' 

"  'I  was  thinking  the  same  thing,  Jeff,'  says  he. 
'We've  been  gouging  the  public  for  a  long  time 
with  all  kinds  of  little  schemes  from  selling 
self-igniting  celluloid  collars  to  flooding  Georgia 
with  Hoke  Smith  presidential  campaign  buttons. 
I'd  like,  myself,  to  hedge  a  bet  or  two  in  the 
graft  game  if  I  could  do  it  without  actually 
banging  the  cymbalines  in  the  Salvation  Army 
or  teaching  a  bible  class  by  the  Bertillon  sys 
tem/ 

"'What'll  we  do?'  says  Andy.     "Give  free 


40  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

grub  to  the  poor  or  send  a  couple  of  thousand 
to  George  Cortelyou  ? ' 

"'Neither,'  says  I.  'We've  got  top  much 
money  to  be  implicated  in  plain  charity;  and 
we  haven't  got  enough  to  make  restitution. 
So,  we'll  look  about  for  something  that's  about 
half  way  between  the  two.' 

"The  next  day  in  walking  around  Floresville 
we  see  on  a  hill  a  big  red  brick  building  that 
appears  to  be  disinhabited.  The  citizens  speak 
up  and  tell  us  that  it  was  begun  for  a  residence 
several  years  before  by  a  mine  owner.  After 
running  up  the  house  he  finds  he  only  had  $2.80 
left  to  furnish  it  with,  so  he  invests  that  in 
whiskey  and  jumps  off"  the  roof  on  a  spot  where 
he  now  requiescats  in  pieces. 

"As  soon  as  me  and  Andy  saw  that  building 
the  same  idea  struck  both  of  us.  We  would  fix 
it  up  with  lights  and  pen  wipers  and  professors, 
and  put  an  iron  dog  and  statues  of  Hercules  and 
Father  John  on  the  lawn,  and  start  one  of  the 
finest  free  educational  institutions  in  the  world 
right  there. 

"So  we  talks  it  over  to  the  prominent  citizens 
of  Floresville,  who  falls  in  fine  with  the  idea. 
They  give  a  banquet  in  the  engine  house  to  us, 
and  we  make  our  bow  for  the  first  time  as  bene 
factors  to  the  cause  of  progress  and  enlighten 
ment.  Andy  makes  an  hour-and-a-half  speech 
on  the  subject  of  irrigation  in  Lower  Egypt,  and 
we  have  a  moral  tune  on  the  phonograph  and 
pineapple  sherbet. 

"Andy  and  me  didn't  lose  any  time  in  philan- 


CHAIR  OF  PHILANTHROMATHEMATICS    41 

thropping.  We  put  every  man  in  town  that 
could  tell  a  hammer  from  a  step  ladder  to  work 
on  the  building,  dividing  it  up  into  class  rooms 
and  lecture  halls.  We  wire  to  Frisco  for  a  car 
load  of  desks,  footballs,  arithmetics,  penholders, 
dictionaries,  chairs  for  the  professors,  slates, 
skeletons,  sponges,  twenty-seven  cravenetted 
gowns  and  caps  for  the  senior  class,  and  an  open 
order  for  all  the  truck  that  goes  with  a  first- 
class  university.  I  took  it  on  myself  to  put 
a  campus  and  a  curriculum  on  the  list;  but  the 
telegraph  operator  must  have  got  the  words 
wrong,  being  an  ignorant  man,  for  when  the 
goods  come  we  found  a  can  of  peas  and  a  curry 
comb  among  'em. 

"While  the  weekly  papers  was  having  chalk- 
plate  cuts  of  me  and  Andy  we  wired  an  em 
ployment  agency  in  Chicago  to  express  us 
f.  o.  b.,  six  professors  immediately — one  English 
literature,  one  up-to-date  dead  languages,  one 
chemistry,  one  political  economy — democrat 
preferred — one  logic,  and  one  wise  to  painting, 
Italian  and  music,  with  union  card.  The 
Esperanza  bank  guaranteed  salaries,  which  was 
to  run  between  $800  and  $800.50. 

"Well,  s;r,  we  finally  got  in  shape.  Over  the 
front  door  was  carved  the  words:  'The  World's 
University;  Peters  &  Tucker,  Patrons  and 
Proprietors.'  And  when  September  the  first 
got  a  cross-mark  on  the  calendar,  the  come- 
ons  begun  to  roll  in.  First  the  faculty  got  off 
the  tri-weekly  express  from  Tucson.  They 
was  mostly  young,  spectacled  and  red-headed, 


42  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

with  sentiments  divided  between  ambition  and 
food.  Andy  and  me  got  'em  billeted  on  the 
Floresvillians  and  then  laid  for  the  students. 

"They  came  in  bunches.  We  had  advertised 
the  University  in  all  the  state  papers,  and  it  did 
us  good  to  see  how  quick  the  country  responded. 
Two  hundred  and  nineteen  husky  lads  aging 
along  from  18  up  to  chin  whiskers  answered 
the  clarion  call  of  free  education.  They  ripped 
open  that  town,  sponged  the  seams,  turned  it, 
lined  it  with  new  mohair;  and  you  couldn't 
have  told  it  from  Harvard  or  Goldfields  at  the 
March  term  of  court. 

"They  marched  up  and  down  the  streets 
waving  flags  with  the  World's  University 
colors — ultra-marine  and  blue — and  they  cer 
tainly  made  a  lively  place  of  Floresville.  Andy 
made  them  a  speech  from  the  balcony  of  the 
Skyview  Hotel,  and  the  whole  town  was  out 
celebrating. 

"In  about  two  weeks  the  professors  got  the 
students  disarmed  and  herded  into  classes.  I 
don't  believe  there's  any  pleasure  equal  to  being 
a  philanthropist.  Me  and  Andy  bought  high 
silk  hats  and  pretended  to  dodge  the  two  re 
porters  of  the  Floresville  Gazette.  The  paper 
nad  a  man  to  kodak  us  whenever  we  appeared 
on  the  street,  and  ran  our  pictures  every  week 
over  the  column  headed  'Educational  Notes/ 
Andy  lectured  twice  a  week  at  the  University; 
and  afterward  I  would  rise  and  tell  a  humorous 
story.  Once  the  Gazette  printed  my  pictures 
with  Abe  Lincoln  on  one  side  and  Marshall 
P.  Wilder  on  the  other. 


CHAIR  OF  PHILANTHROMATHEMATICS    43 

"Andy  was  as  interested  in  philanthropy  as  I 
,  was.     We  used  to  wake  up  of  nights   and  tell 
i  each   other   new   ideas   for   booming  the   Uni 
versity. 

'"Andy/  says  I  to  him  one  day,  'there's 
something  we  overlooked.  The  boys  ought  to 
have  dromedaries.' 

"What's  that?' Andy  asks. 

"'Why,  something  to  sleep  in,  of  course,'  says 
I.  'All  colleges  have  'em.' 

"'Oh,  you  mean  pajamas,'  says  Andy. 

"'I  do  not,'  says  I.  'I  mean  dromedaries.' 
But  I  never  could  make  Andy  understand;  so 
we  never  ordered  'em.  Of  course,  I  meant 
them  long  bedrooms  in  colleges  where  the 
scholars  sleep  in  a  row. 

"Well,  sir,  the  World's  University  was  a 
success.  We  had  scholars  from  five  States  and 
territories,  and  Floresville  had  a  boom.  A  new 
shooting  gallery  and  a  pawn  shop  and  two  more 
saloons  started;  and  the  boys  got  up  a  college 
yell  that  went  this  way: 

"'Raw,  raw,  raw, 

Done,  done,  done, 
Peters,  Tucker, 

Lots  of  fun. 
Bow-wow-wow, 

Haw-hee-haw, 
World  University, 

Hip  hurrah!" ' 

"The  scholars  was  a  fine  lot  of  young  men, 
and  me  and  Andy  was  as  proud  of  'em  as  if  they 
belonged  to  our  own  family 

"But  one  day  about  the  last  of  October  Andy 


44  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

come  to  me  and  asks  if  I  have  any  idea  how 
much  money  we  had  left  in  the  bank.  I  guesses 
about  sixteen  thousand.  'Our  balance,'  says 
Andy,  'is  $821.62.' 

"'What!'  says  I,  with  a  kind  of  a  yell.  'Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  them  infernal  clod- 
hopping,  dough-headed,  pup-faced,  goose- 
brained,  gate-stealing,  rabbit-eared  sons  of 
horse  thieves  have  soaked  us  for  that  much?' 

"No  less,'  says  Andy. 

"Then,  to  Helvetia  with  philanthropy,'  says 

"'Not  necessarily,'  says  Andy.  'Philan 
thropy,'  says  he,  'when  run  on  a  good  business 
basis  is  one  of  the  best  grafts  going.  I'll  look 
into  the  matter  and  see  if  it  can't  be  straightened 
out.' 

"The  next  week  I  am  looking  over  the  payroll 
of  our  faculty  when  I  run  across  a  new  name — 
Professor  James  Darnley  McCorkle,  chair  of 
mathematics;  salary  $100  per  week.  I  yells  so 
loud  that  Andy  runs  in  quick. 

"What's  this,'  says  I.  'A  Professor  of 
mathematics  at  more  than  $5,000  a  year?  How 
did  this  happen?  Did  he  get  in  through  the 
window  and  appoint  himself?' 

"  'I  wired  to  Frisco  for  him  a  week  ago,'  says 
Andy.  'In  ordering  the  faculty  we  seemed  to 
have  overlooked  the  chair  of  mathematics.' 

"'A  good  thing  we  did,'  says  I.  'We  can  pay 
his  salary  two  weeks,  and  then  our  philanthropy 
will  look  like  the  ninth  hole  on  the  Skibo  golf 
links.' 

'"Wait  a  while,'  says  Andy,  'and  see  how 


CHAIR  OF  PHILANTHROMATHEMATICS    45 

things  turn  out.  We  have  taken  up  too  noble 
a  cause  to  draw  out  now.  Besides,  the  further 
I  gaze  into  the  retail  philanthropy  business  the 
better  it  looks  to  me.  I  never  thought  about 
investigating  it  before.  Come  to  think  of  it 
now,'  goes  on  Andy,  'all  the  philanthropists 
I  ever  knew  had  plenty  of  money.  I  ought  to 
have  looked  into  that  matter  long  ago,  and 
located  which  was  the  cause  and  which  was  the 
effect.' 

"I  had  confidence  in  Andy's  chicanery  in 
financial  affairs,  so  I  left  the  whole  thing  in  his 
hands.  The  University  was  flourishing  fine, 
and  me  and  Andy  kept  our  silk  hats  shined  up, 
and  Floresville  kept  on  heaping  honors  on  us 
like  we  was  millionaires  instead  of  almost  busted 
philanthropists. 

"The  students  kept  the  town  lively  and 
prosperous.  Some  stranger  came  to  town  and 
started  a  faro  bank  over  the  Red  Front  livery 
stable,  and  began  to  amass  money  in  quantities. 
Me  and  Andy  strolled  up  one  night  and  piked 
a  dollar  or  two  for  sociability.  There  were 
about  fifty  of  our  students  there  drinking  rum 
punches  and  shoving  high  stacks  of  blues  and 
reds  about  the  table  as  the  dealer  turned  the 
cards  up. 

"Why,  dang  it,  Andy,'  says  I,  'these  free- 
school-hunting,  gander-headed,  silk-socked  little 
sons  of  sapsuckers  have  got  more  money  than 
you  and  me  ever  had.  Look  at  the  rolls  they're 
pulling  out  of  their  pistol  pockets!' 

"Yes,'  says  Andy,  'a  good  many  of  them  are 
sons  of  wealthy  miners  and  stockmen.  It's 


46  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

very  sad  to  see  'em  wasting  their  opportunities 
this  way.' 

"At  Christmas  all  the  students  went  home 
to  spend  the  holidays.  We  had  a  farewell 
blowout  at  the  University  and  Andy  lectured 
on  'Modern  Music  and  Prehistoric  Literature 
of  the  Archipelagos.'  Each  one  of  the  faculty 
answered  to  toasts,  and  compared  me  and 
Andy  to  Rockefeller  and  the  Emperor  Marcus 
Autolycus.  I  pounded  on  the  table  and  yelled 
for  Professor  McCorkle;  but  it  seems  he  wasn't 
present  on  the  occasion.  I  wanted  a  look  at  the 
man  that  Andy  thought  could  earn  $100  a  week 
in  philanthropy  that  was  on  the  point  of  making 
an  assignment. 

"The  students  all  left  on  the  night  train;  and 
the  town  sounded  as  quiet  as  the  campus  of  a 
correspondence  school  at  midnight.  When  I 
went  to  the  hotel  I  saw  a  light  in  Andy's  room 
and  I  opened  the  door  and  walked  in. 

"There  sat  Andy  and  the  faro  dealer  at  a 
table  dividing  a  two-foot  high  stack  of  currency 
in  thousand-dollar  packages. 

"  'Correct,'  says  Andy.  'Thirty-one  thousand 
apiece.  Come  in,  Jeff,'  says  he.  'This  is  our 
share  of  the  profits  of  the  first  half  of  the  scho 
lastic  term  of  the  World's  University,  incor 
porated  and  philanthropated.  Are  you  con 
vinced  now,'  says  Andy,  'that  philanthropy 
when  practiced  in  a  business  way  is  an  art 
that  blesses  him  who  gives  as  well  as  him  who 
receives  ? ' 

"  'Great ! '  says  I,  feeling  fine.  *  I'll  admit  you 
are  the  doctor  this  time.' 


CHAIR  OF  PHILANTHROMATHEMATICS    47 

"'We'll  be  leaving  on  the  morning  train,'  says 
Andy.  'You'd  better  get  your  collars  and  cuffs 
and  press  clippings  together.' 

"'Great! 'says  I.  Til  be  ready.  But,  Andy,' 
says  I,  'I  wish  I  could  have  met  that  Professor 
James  Darnley  McCorkle  before  we  went.  I 
had  a  curiosity  to  know  that  man.' 

"'That'll  be  easy/  says  Andy,  turning  around 
to  the  faro  dealer. 

"'Jim,'  says  Andy,  'shake  hands  with  Mr. 
Peters.'" 


THE  HAND  THAT  RILES  THE  WORLD 

MANY  of  our  great  men,"  said  I  (apropos  of 
many  things),  "have  declared  that  they  owe  their 
success  to  the  aid  and  encouragement  of  some 
brilliant  woman." 

"I  know,"  said  Jeff  Peters.  "I've  read  in 
history  and  mythology  about  Joan  of  Arc  and 
Mme.  Yale  and  Mrs.  Caudle  and  Eve  and  other 
noted  females  of  the  past.  But,  in  my  opinion, 
the  woman  of  to-day  is  of  little  use  in  politics 
or  business.  What's  she  best  in,  anyway? — 
men  make  the  best  cooks,  milliners,  nurses, 
housekeepers,  stenographers,  clerks,  hair 
dressers  and  launderers.  About  the  only  job 
left  that  a  woman  can  beat  a  man  in  is  female 
impersonator  in  vaudeville." 

"I  would  have  thought,"  said  I,  "that 
occasionally,  anyhow,  you  would  have  found  the 
wit  and  intuition  of  woman  valuable  to  you 
in  your  lines  of-er-business." 

"Now,  wouldn't  you,"  said  Jeff,  with  an 
emphatic  nod — "wouldn't  you  have  imagined 
that?  But  a  woman  is  an  absolutely  unreliable 
partner  in  any  straight  swindle.  She's  liable 
to  turn  honest  on  you  when  you  are  depending 
upon  her  most.  I  tried  'em  once." 

"Bill  Humble,  an  old  friend  of  mine  in  the 
Territories,  conceived  the  illusion  that  he 
48 


"Selling  walking  canes 
49 


5o  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

wanted  to  be  appointed  United  States  Marshal. 
At  that  time  me  and  Andy  was  doing  a  square, 
legitimate  business  of  selling  walking  canes. 
If  you  unscrewed  the  head  of  one  and  turned  it 
up  to  your  mouth  a  half  pint  of  good  rye  whiskey 


"'I'm  a  plain  citizen  and  I  need  the  job'" 

would  go  trickling  down  your  throat  to  reward 
you  for  your  act  of  intelligence.  The  deputies 
was  annoying  me  and  Andy  some,  and  when 
Bill  spoke  to  me  about  his  officious  aspirations, 
I  saw  how  the  appointment  as  Marshal  might 
help  along  the  firm  of  Peters  &  Tucker. 


THE  HAND  THAT  RILES  THE  WORLD     51 

"'Jeff,'  says  Bill  to  me,  'you  are  a  man  of 
learning  and  education,  besides  having  knowl 
edge  and  information  concerning  not  only  rudi 
ments  but  facts  and  attainments.' 

"'I  do,'  says  I,  'and  I  have  never  regretted  it. 
I  am  not  one,'  says  I,  'who  would  cheapen 
education  by  making  it  free.  Tell  me,'  says  I, 
'which  is  of  the  most  value  to  mankind,  liter 
ature  or  horse  racing?' 

"'Why — er — ,  playing  the  po — I  mean,  of 
course,  the  poets  and  the  great  writers  have  got 
the  call,  of  course,'  says  Bill. 

"'Exactly,'  says  I.  'Then  why  do  the  master 
minds  of  finance  and  philanthropy,'  says  I, 
'charge  us  $2  to  get  into  a  race-track  and  let 
us  into  a  library  free?  Is  that  distilling  into 
the  masses,'  says  I,  'a  correct  estimate  of  the 
relative  value  of  the  two  means  of  self-culture 
and  disorder?' 

"'You  are  arguing  outside  of  my  faculties  of 
sense  and  rhetoric,'  says  Bill.  'What  I  wanted 
you  to  do  is  to  go  to  Washington  and  dig  out 
this  appointment  for  me.  I  haven't  no  ideas 
of  cultivation  and  intrigue.  I'm  a  plain  citizen 
and  I  need  the  job.  I've  killed  seven  men,' 
says  Bill;  'I've  got  nine  children;  I've  been  a 
good  Republican  ever  since  the  first  of  May; 
I  can't  read  nor  write,  and  I  see  no  reason  why 
I  ain't  illegible  for  the  office.  And  I  think  your 
partner,  Mr.  Tucker,'  goes  on  Bill,  'is  also  a  man 
of  sufficient  ingratiation  and  connected  system 
of  mental  delinquency  to  assist  you  in  securing 
the  appointment.  I  will  give  you  preliminary,' 
says  Bill,  '$1,000  for  drinks,  bribes  and  carfare 


52  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

in  Washington.  If  you  land  the  job  I  will 
pay  you  $1,000  more,  cash  down,  and  guarantee 
you  impunity  in  boot-legging  whiskey  for  twelve 
months.  Are  you  patriotic  to  the  West  enough 
to  help  me  put  this  thing  through  the  White 
washed  Wigwam  of  the  Great  Father  of  the 
most  eastern  flag  station  of  the  Pennsylvania 
Railroad?'  says  Bill. 

"Well,  I  talked  to  Andy  about  it,  and  he 
liked  the  idea  immense.  And}-  was  a  man  of 
an  involved  nature.  He  was  never  content 
to  plod  along,  as  I  was,  selling  to  the  peasantry 
some  little  tool  like  a  combination  steak  beater, 
shoe  horn,  marcel  wTaver,  monkey  wrench,  nail 
file,  potato  masher  and  Multum  in  Parvo 
tuning  fork.  Andy  had  the  artistic  temper, 
which  is  not  to  be  judged  as  a  preacher's  or  a 
moral  man's  is  by  purely  commercial  deflections. 
So  we  accepted  Bill's  offer,  and  strikes  out  for 
Washington. 

"Says  I  to  Andy,  when  we  get  located  at  a 
hotel  on  South  Dakota  Avenue,  G.  S.  S.  W. 
'Now  Andy,  for  the  first  time  in  our  lives  we've 
got  to  do  a  real  dishonest  act.  Lobbying  is 
something  we've  never  been  used  to;  but  we've 
got  to  scandalize  ourselves  for  Bill  Humble's 
sake.  In  a  straight  and  legitimate  business,' 
says  I,  'we  could  afford  to  introduce  a  little 
foul  play  and  chicanery,  but  in  a  disorderly  and 
heinous  piece  of  malpractice  like  this  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  straightforward  and  aboveboard 
way  is  the  best.  I  propose,'  says  I,  'that  we 
hand  over  $500  of  this  money  to  the  chairman 
of  the  national  campaign  committee,  get  a 


THE  HAND  THAT  RILES  THE  WORLD     53 

receipt,  lay  the  receipt  on  the  President's 
desk  and  tell  him  about  Bill.  The  President 
is  a  man  who  would  appreciate  a  candidate  who 
went  about  getting  office  that  way  instead  of 
pulling  wires. 

"Andy  agreed  with  me,  but  after  we  talked 
the  scheme  over  with  the  hotel  clerk  we  give  that 
plan  up.  He  told  us  that  there  was  only  one 
way  to  get  an  appointment  in  Washington, 
and  that  was  through  a  lady  lobbyist.  He  gave 
us  the  address  of  one  he  recommended,  a  Mrs. 
Avery,  who  he  said  was  high  up  in  sociable 
and  diplomatic  rings  and  circles. 

"The  next  morning  at  10  o'clock  me  and  Andy 
called  at  her  hotel,  and  was  shown  up  to  her  re 
ception  room. 

"This  Mrs.  Avery  was  a  solace  and  a  balm 
to  the  eyesight.  She  had  hair  the  color  of  the 
back  of  a  twenty-dollar  gold  certificate,  blue 
eyes  and  a  system  of  beauty  that  would  make 
the  girl  on  the  cover  of  a  July  magazine  look  like 
a  cook  on  a  Monongahela  coal  barge. 

"She  had  on  a  low  necked  dress  covered  with 
silver  spangles,  and  diamond  rings  and  ear  bobs. 
Her  arms  was  bare;  and  she  was  using  a  desk 
telephone  with  one  hand,  and  drinking  tea 
with  the  other. 

"'Well,  boys,'  says  she  after  a  bit,  'what  is 

it?' 

"I  told  her  in  as  few  words  as  possible  what 
we  wanted  for  Bill,  and  the  price  we  could  pay. 

"Those  western  appointments,'  says  she, 
'are  easy.  Le'me  see,  now,'  says  she,  'who 
could  put  that  through  for  us.  No  use  fooling 


54 


THE  HAND  THAT  RILES  THE  WORLD     55 

with  Territorial  delegates.  I  guess,'  says  she, 
'that  Senator  Sniper  would  be  about  the  man. 
He's  from  somewheres  in  the  West.  Let's  see 
how  he  stands  on  my  private  menu  card.'  She 
takes  some  papers  out  of  a  pigeonhole  with  the 
letter  'S'  over  it. 

"'Yes,'  says  she,  'he's  marked  with  a  star; 
that  means  "ready  to  serve."  Now,  let's  see. 
"Age  55;  married  twice;  Presbyterian,  likes 
blondes,  Tolstoi,  poker  and  stewed  terrapin; 
sentimental  at  third  bottle  of  wine."  Yes,'  she 
goes  on,  'I  am  sure  I  can  have  your  friend, 
Mr.  Bummer,  appointed  Minister  to  Brazil.' 

"'Humble,'  says  I.  'And  United  States 
Marshal  was  the  berth.' 

"'Oh,  yes,'  says  Mrs.  Avery.  'I  have  so  many 
deals  of  this  sort  I  sometimes  get  them  confused. 
Give  me  all  the  memoranda  you  have  of  the 
case,  Mr.  Peters,  and  come  back  in  four  days. 
I  think  it  can  be  arranged  by  then.' 

"  So  me  and  Andy  goes  back  to  our  hotel  and 
waits.  Andy  walks  up  and  down  and  chews  the 
left  end  of  his  mustache. 

"'A  woman  of  high  intellect  and  perfect 
beauty  is  the  rare  thing,  Jeff,'  says  he. 

"'As  rare/  says  I,  'as  an  omelet  made  from 
the  eggs  of  the  fabulous  bird  known  as  the 
epidermis,'  says  I. 

"'A  woman  like  that,'  says  Andy,  'ought  to 
lead  a  man  to  the  highest  positions  of  opulence 
and  fame.' 

"'I  misdoubt,'  says  I,  'if  any  woman  ever 
helped  a  man  to  secure  a  job  any  more  than 
to  have  his  meals  ready  promptly  and  spread 


S6  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

a  report  that  the  other  candidate's  wife  had 
once  been  a  shoplifter.  They  are  no  more 
adapted  for  business  and  politics,'  says  I,  'than 
Algernon  Charles  Swinburne  is  to  be  floor 
manager  at  one  of  Chuck  Connor's  annual  balls. 
I  know,'  says  I  to  Andy,  'that  sometimes  a 
woman  seems  to  step  out  into  the  kalsomine 
light  as  the  charge  d'affaires  of  her  man's 
political  job.  But  how  does  it  come  out?  Say, 
they  have  a  neat  little  berth  somewhere  as 
foreign  consul  of  record  to  Afghanistan  or 
lockkeeper  on  the  Delaware  and  Raritan  Canal. 
One  day  this  man  finds  his  wife  putting  on 
her  overshoes  and  three  months'  supply  of 
bird  seed  into  the  canary's  cage.  "  Sioux  Falls  ? " 
he  asks  with  a  kind  of  hopeful  look  in  his  eye. 
"No,  Arthur"  says  she,  "Washington.  We're 
wasted  here,"  says  she.  "You  ought  to  be 
Toady  Extraordinary  to  the  Court  of  St.  Bridget 
or  Head  Porter  of  the  Island  of  Porto  Rico. 
I'm  going  to  see  about  it." 

"Then  this  lady,'  I  says  to  Andy,  'moves 
against  the  authorities  at  Washington  with  her 
baggage  and  munitions,  consisting  of  five  dozen 
indiscriminating  letters  written  to  her  by  a 
member  of  the  Cabinet  when  she  was  15;  a 
letter  of  introduction  from  King  Leopold  to  the 
Smithsonian  Institution,  and  a  pink  silk  costume 
with  canary  colored  spats. 

"  'Well,  and  then  what  ? '  I  goes.  '  She  has  the 
letters  printed  in  the  evening  papers  that 
match  her  costume,  she  lectures  at  an  informal 
tea  given  in  the  palm  room  of  the  B.  &  O.  Depot 
and  then  calls  on  the  President.  The  ninth 


THE  HAND  THAT  RILES  THE  WORLD      57 

Assistant  Secretary  of  Commerce  and  Labor, 
the  first  aide-de-camp  of  the  Blue  Room  and 
an  unidentified  colored  man  are  waiting  there 
to  grasp  her  by  the  hands — and  feet.  They 
carry  her  out  to  S.  W.  B.  street  and  leave  her 
on  a  cellar  door.  That  ends  it.  The  next  time 
we  hear  of  her  she  is  writing  postal  cards  to  the 
Chinese  Minister  asking  him  to  get  Arthur  a 
job  in  a  tea  store.' 

"'Then,'  says  Andy,  'you  don't  think  Mrs. 
Avery  will  land  the  Marshalship  for  Bill:' 

"I  do  not,'  says  I.  'I  do  not  wish  to  be  a 
septic,  but  I  doubt  if  she  can  do  as  well  as  you 
and  me  could  have  done.' 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,'  says  Andy.  Til 
bet  you  she  does.  I'm  proud  of  having  a  higher 
opinion  of  the  talent  and  the  powers  of  ne 
gotiation  of  ladies.' 

"We  was  back  at  Mrs.  Avery 's  hotel  at  the 
time  she  appointed.  She  was  looking  pretty 
and  fine  enough,  as  far  as  that  went,  to  make  any 
man  let  her  name  every  officer  in  the  country. 
But  I  hadn't  much  faith  in  looks,  so  I  was 
certainly  surprised  when  she  pulls  out  a  docu 
ment  with  the  great  seal  of  the  United  States 
on  it,  and  'William  Henry  Humble'  in  a  fine, 
big  hand  on  the  back. 

"You  might  have  had  it  the  next  day,  boys,' 
says  Mrs.  Avery,  smiling.  'I  hadn't  the  slight 
est  trouble  in  getting  it,'  says  she.  '  I  just  asked 
for  it,  that's  all.  Now,  I'd  like  to  talk  to  you 
a  while,'  she  goes  on,  'but  I'm  awfully  busy,  and 
I  know  you'll  excuse  me.  I've  got  an  Am 
bassadorship,  two  Consulates  and  a  dozen  other 


58  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

minor  applications  to  look  after.  I  can  hardly 
find  time  to  sleep  at  all.  You'll  give  my  com 
pliments  to  Mr.  Humble  when  you  get  home,  of 
course.' 

"Well,  I  handed  her  the  $500,  which  she 
pitched  into  her  desk  drawer  without  counting. 
I  put  Bill's  appointment  in  my  Docket  and  me 
and  Andy  made  our  adieus. 

"We  started  back  for  the  Territory  the  same 
day.  W'e  wired  Bill:  'Job  landed;  get  the  tall 
glasses  ready,'  and  we  felt  pretty  good. 

"Andy  joshed  me  all  the  way  about  how  little 
I  knew  about  women. 

"'All  right,'  says  I.  Til  admit  that  she 
surprised  me.  But  it's  the  first  time  I  ever 
knew  one  of  'em  to  manipulate  a  piece  of 
business  on  time  without  getting  it  bungled^up 
in  some  way,'  says  I. 

"Down  about  the  edge  of  Arkansas  I  got  out 
Bill's  appointment  and  looked  it  over,  and  then 
I  handed  it  to  Andy  to  read.  Andy  read  it,  but 
didn't  add  any  remarks  to  my  silence. 

"The  paper  was  for  Bill,  all  right,  and  a 
genuine  document,  but  it  appointed  him  post 
master  of  Dade  City,  Fla. 

"Me  and  Andy  got  off  the  train  at  Little 
Rock  and  sent  Bill's  appointment  to  him  by 
mail.  Then  we  struck  northeast  toward  Lake 
Superior. 

"I  never  saw  Bill  Humble  after  that." 


THE  EXACT  SCIENCE  OF  MATRIMONY 

AS  I  have  told  you  before,"  said  Jeff  Peters, 
"I  never  had  much  confidence  in  the  perfidious- 
ness  of  woman.  As  partners  or  coeducators  in 
the  most  innocent  line  of  graft  they  are  not 
trustworthy." 

"They  deserve  the  compliment,"  said  I. 
"I  think  they  are  entitled  to  be  called  the 
honest  sex." 

"Why  shouldn't  they  be?"  said  Jeff. 
"They've  got  the  other  sex  either  grafting  or 
working  overtime  for  'em.  They're  all  right 
in  business  until  they  get  their  emotions  or  their 
hair  touched  up  too  much.  Then  you  want 
to  have  a  flat-footed,  heavy-breathing  man 
with  sandy  whiskers,  five  kids  and  a  building 
and  loan  mortgage  ready  as  an  understudy  to 
take  her  desk.  Now  there  was  that  widow  lady 
that  me  and  Andy  Tucker  engaged  to  help  us 
in  that  little  matrimonial  agency  scheme  we 
floated  out  in  Cairo. 

"When  you've  got  enough  advertising 
capital — say  a  roll  as  big  as  the  little  end  of  a 
wagon  tongue — there's  money  in  matrimonial 
agencies.  We  had  about  $6,000  and  we  expected 
to  double  it  in  two  months,  which  is  about  as 
long  as  a  scheme  like  ours  can  be^  carried  on 
without  taking  out  a  New  Jersey  charter. 

59 


60  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

"We  fixed  up  an  advertisement  that  read 
about  like  this: 

"Charming  widow,  beautiful,  home  loving,  32  years, 
possessing  $3,000  cash  and  owning  valuable  country 
property,  would  remarry.  Would  prefer  a  poor  man  with 
affectionate  disposition  to  one  with  means,  as  she  realizes 
that  the  solid  virtues  are  oftenest  to  be  found  in  the  humble 
walks  of  life.  No  objection  to  elderly  man  or  one  of  homely 
appearance  if  faithful  and  true  and  competent  to  manage 
property  and  invest  money  with  judgment.  Address,  with 
particulars. 

LONELY, 
Care  of  Peters  &  Tucker,  agents,  Cairo,  111. 

r"So  far,  so  pernicious,'  says  I,  when  we  had 
finished  the  literary  concoction.  'And  now,' 
says  I,  'where  is  the  lady?'  ^ 

"Andy  gives  me  one  of  his  looks  of  calm 
irritation. 

"Jeff,'  says  he,  'I  thought  you  had  lost  them 
ideas  of  realism  in  your  art.  Why  should  there 
be  a  lady?  When  they  sell  a  lot  of  watered 
stock  on  Wall  Street  would  you  expect  to  find 
a  mermaid  in  it?  What  has  a  matrimonial 
ad  got  to  do  with  a  lady?' 

"Now  listen,'  says  I.  'You  know  my  rule, 
Andy,  that  in  all  my  illegitimate  inroads  against 
the  legal  letter  of  the  law  the  article  sold  must 
be  existent,  visible,  producible.  In  that  way 
and  by  a  careful  study  of  city  ordinances  and 
train  schedules  I  have  kept  out  of  all  trouble 
with  the  police  that  a  five-dollar  bill  and  a  cigar 
could  not  square.  Now,  to  work  this  scheme 
we've  got  to  be  able  to  produce  bodily  a  charm 
ing  widow  or  its  equivalent  with  or  without 


THE  EXACT  SCIENCE  OF  MATRIMONY    61 

the  beauty,  hereditaments  and  appurtenances 
set  forth  in  the  catalogue  and  writ  of  errors, 
or  hereafter  be  held  by  a  justice  of  the  peace.' 
"Well/  says  Andy,  reconstructing  his  mind, 
'maybe  it  would  be  safer  in  case  the  post  office 
or  the  peace  commission  should  try  to  investi 
gate  our  agency.  But  where/  he  says,  'could 
you  hope  to  find  a  widow  who  would  waste 
time  on  a  matrimonial  scheme  that  had  no 
matrimony  in  it?' 

"I  told  Andy  that  I  thought  I  knew  of  the 
exact  party.  An  old  friend  of  mine,  Zeke 
Trotter,  who  used  to  draw  soda  water  and  teeth 
in  a  tent  show,  had  made  his  wife  a  widow  a 
year  before  by  drinking  some  dyspepsia  cure 
of  the  old  doctor's  instead  of  the  liniment  that 
he  always  got  boozed  up  on.  I  used  to  stop 
at  their  house  often,  and  I  thought  we  could 
get  her  to  work  with  us. 

"'Twas  only  sixty  miles  to  the  little  town 
where  she  lived,  so  I  jumped  out  on  the  I.  C. 
and  finds  her  in  the  same  cottage  with  the  same 
sunflowers  and  roosters  standing  on  the  wash- 
tub.  Mrs.  Trotter  fitted  our  ad  first  rate 
except,  maybe,  for  beauty  and  age  and  property 
valuation.  But  she  looked  feasible  and  praise 
worthy  to  the  eye,  and  it  was  a  kindness  to 
Zeke's  memory  to  give  her  the  job. 

"'Is  this  an  honest  deal  you  are  putting  on, 
Mr.  Peters?'  she  asks  me  when  I  tell  her  what 
we  want. 

"  'Mrs.  Trotter  ? '  says  I, '  Andy  Tucker  and  me 
have  computed  the  calculation  that  3,000  men 
in  this  broad  and  fair  country  will  endeavor 


62  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

to  secure  your  fair  hand  and  ostensible  money 
and  property  through  our  advertisement.  Out 
of  that  number  something  like  thirty  hundred 
will  expect  to  give  you  in  exchange,  if  they 
should  win  you,  the  carcass  of  a  lazy  and  mer 
cenary  loafer,  a  failure  in  life,  a  swindler  and 
contemptible  fortune  seeker. 

"Me  and  Andy,'  says  I,  'propose  to  teach 
these  preyers  upon  society  a  lesson.  It  was 
with  difficulty,'  says  I,  'that  me  and  Andy 
could  refrain  from  forming  a  corporation  under 
the  title  of  the  Great  Moral  and  Millennial 
Malevolent  Matrimonial  Agency.  Does  that 
satisfy  you?' 

'"It  does,  Mr.  Peters,'  says  she.  'I  might 
have  known  you  wouldn't  have  gone  into  any 
thing  that  wasn't  opprobrious.  But  what  will 
my  duties  be?  Do  I  have  to  reject  personally 
these  3,000  ramscallions  you  speak  of,  or  can 
I  throw  them  out  in  bunches?' 

'"Your  job,  Mrs.  Trotter,'  says  I,  'will  be 
practically  a  cynosure.  You  will  live  at  a 
quiet  hotel  and  will  have  no  work  to  do.  Andy 
and  I  will  attend  to  all  the  correspondence  and 
business  end  of  it. 

!"Of  course,'  says  I, 'some  of  the  more  ardent 
and  impetuous  suitors  who  can  raise  the  railroad 
fare  may  come  to  Cairo  to  personally  press  their 
suit  or  whatever  fraction  of  a  suit  they  may  be 
wearing.  In  that  case  you  will  be  probably 
put  to  the  inconvenience  of  kicking  them  out 
face  to  face.  We  will  pay  you  $25  per  week  and 
hotel  expenses/ 

"'Give  me  five  minutes,'  says  Mrs. Trotter, 'to 


THE  EXACT  SCIENCE  OF  MATRIMONY    63 

get  my  powder  rag  and  leave  the  front  door  key 
with  a  neighbor  and  you  can  let  my  salary  begin/ 

"So  I  conveys  Mrs.  Trotter  to  Cairo  and  es 
tablishes  her  in  a  family  hotel  far  enough  away 
from  mine  and  Andy's  quarters  to  be  unsus 
picious  and  available,  and  I  tell  Andy. 

'"Great,'  says  Andy.  'And  now  that  your 
conscience  is  appeased  as  to  the  tangibility 
and  proximity  of  the  bait,  and  leaving  mutton 
aside,  suppose  we  revenoo  a  noo  fish.' 

"So,  we  began  to  insert  our  advertisement  in 
newspapers  covering  the  country  far  and  wide. 
One  ad  was  all  we  used.  We  couldn't  have  used 
more  without  hiring  so  many  clerks  and  mar 
celled  paraphernalia  that  the  sound  of  the  gum 
chewing  would  have  disturbed  the  Postmaster- 
General. 

"We  placed  $2,000  in  a  bank  to  Mrs.  Trotter's 
credit  and  gave  her  the  book  to  show  in  case 
anybody  might  question  the  honesty  and  good 
faith  of  the  agency.  I  knew  Mrs.  Trotter  was 
square  and  reliable  and  it  was  safe  to  leave  it  in 
her  name. 

"  With  that  one  ad  Andy  and  me  put  in  twelve 
hours  a  day  answering  letters. 

"About  one  hundred  a  day  was  what  came  in. 
I  never  knew  there  was  so  many  large  hearted 
but  indigent  men  in  the  country  who  were 
willing  to  acquire  a  charming  widow  and  assume 
the  burden  of  investing  her  money. 

"Most  of  them  admitted  that  they  ran 
principally  to  whiskers  and  lost  jobs  and  were 
misunderstood  by  the  world,  but  all  of  'em  were 
sure  that  they  were  so  chock  full  of  affection  and 


64 


THE  EXACT  SCIENCE  OF  MATRIMONY    65 

manly  qualities  that  the  widow  would  be  making 
the  bargain  of  her  life  to  get  'em. 

"Every  applicant  got  a  reply  from  Peters  & 
Tucker  informing  him  that  the  widow  had  been 
deeply  impressed  by  his  straightforward  and 
interesting  letter  and  requesting  them  to  write 
again  stating  more  particulars;  and  enclosing 
photograph  if  convenient.  Peters  &  Tucker 
also  informed  the  applicant  that  their  fee  for 
handing  over  the  second  letter  to  their  fair 
client  would  be  $2,  enclosed  therewith. 

"There  you  see  the  simple  beauty  of  the 
scheme.  About  90  per  cent,  of  them  domestic 
foreign  noblemen  raised  the  price  somehow  and 
sent  it  in.  That  was  all  there  was  to  it.  Except 
that  me  and  Andy  complained  an  amount  about 
being  put  to  the  trouble  of  slicing  open  them 
envelopes,  and  taking  the  money  out. 

"Some  few  clients  called  in  person.  We  sent 
'em  to  Mrs.  Trotter  and  she  did  the  rest;  except 
for  three  or  four  who  came  back  to  strike  us 
for  carfare.  After  the  letters  began  to  get  in 
from  the  r.  f.  d.  districts  Andy  and  me  were 
taking  in  about  $200  a  day. 

"One  afternoon  when  we  were  busiest  and 
I  was  stuffing  the  two  and  ones  into  cigar  boxes 
and  Andy  was  whistling  'No  Wedding  Bells  for 
Her'  a  small,  slick  man  drops  in  and  runs  his  eye 
over  the  walls  like  he  was  on  the  trail  of  a  lost 
Gainesborough  painting  or  two.  As  soon  as  I 
saw  him  I  felt  a  glow  of  pride,  because  we  were 
running  our  business  on  the  level. 

"I  see  you  have  quite  a  large  mail  to-day/ 
savs  the  man. 


66 


THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 


"I  reached  and  got  my  hat. 

"'Come  on,'  says  I.  'We've  been  expecting 
you.  I'll  show  you  the  goods.  How  was  Teddy 
when  you  left  Washington?' 

"I  took  him  down  to  the  Riverview  Hotel  and 


"'Mr.  Peters,  I'm  in  love"1 

had  him  shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Trotter.  Then 
I  showed  him  her  bank  book  with  the  $2,000 
to  her  credit. 

"'It  seems  to  be  all  right,'  says  the  Secret 
Service. 


THE  EXACT  SCIENCE  OF  MATRIMONY    67 

"'It  is,'  says  I.  'And  if  you're  not  a  married 
man  I'll  leave  you  to  talk  a  while  with  the  lady. 
We  won't  mention  the  two  dollars.' 

"'Thanks,'  says  he.  'If  I  wasn't,  I  might. 
Good  day,  Mrs.  Peters.' 

"Toward  the  end  of  three  months  we  had 
taken  in  something  over  $5,000,  and  we  saw 
it  was  time  to  quit.  We  had  a  good  many  com 
plaints  made  to  us;  and  Mrs.  Trotter  seemed 
to  be  tired  of  the  job.  A  good  many  suitors  had 
been  calling  to  see  her,  and  she  didn't  seem  to 
like  that. 

"  So  we  decides  to  pull  out,  and  I  goes  down  to 
Mrs.  Trotter's  hotel  to  pay  her  last  week's  salary 
and  say  farewell  and  get  her  check  for  the 

$2,000. 

"When  I  got  there  I  found  her  crying  like  a 
kid  that  don't  want  to  go  to  school. 

"'Now,  now,'  says  I,  'what's  it  all  about? 
Somebody  sassed  you  or  you  getting  home 
sick?' 

"'No,  Mr.  Peters,'  says  she.  Til  tell  you. 
You  was  always  a  friend  of  Zeke's,  and  I  don't 
mind.  Mr.  Peters,  I'm  in  love.  I  just  love 
a  man  so  hard  I  can't  bear  not  to  get  him.  He's 
just  the  ideal  I've  always  had  in  mind.' 

"'Then  take  him,'  says  I.  'That  is,  if  it's  a 
mutual  case.  Does  he  return  the  sentiment 
according  to  the  specifications  and  painfulness 
you  have  described?' 

"'He  does,'  says  she.  'But  he's  one  of  the 
gentlemen  that's  been  coming  to  see  me  about 
the  advertisement  and  he  won't  marry  me  unless 
I  give  him  the  $2,000.  His  name  is  William 


68  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

Wilkinson.'  And  then  she  goes  off  again  in  the 
agitations  and  hysterics  of  romance. 

"'Mrs.  Trotter,'  says  I,  'there's  no  man  more 
sympathizing  with  a  woman's  affections  than 
I  am.  Besides,  you  was  once  the  life  partner 
of  one  of  my  best  friends.  If  it  was  left  to  me 
I'd  say  take  this  $2,000  and  the  man  of  your 
choice  and  be  happy. 

"  'We  could  afford  to  do  that,  because  we  have 
cleaned  up  over  $5,000  from  these  suckers  that 
wanted  to  marry  you.  But,'  says  I,  'Andy 
Tucker  is  to  be  consulted. 

"  'He  is  a  good  man,  but  keen  in  business.  He 
is  my  equal  partner  financially.  I  will  talk 
to  Andy,'  says  I,  'and  see  what  can  be  done.' 

"I  goes  back  to  our  hotel  and  lays  the  case 
before  Andy. 

"'I  was  expecting  something  like  this  all  the 
time,'  says  Andy.  'You  can't  trust  a  woman  to 
stick  by  you  in  any  scheme  that  involves  her 
emotions  and  preferences.' 

"'It's  a  sad  thing,  Andy,'  says  I,  'to  think 
that  we've  been  the  cause  of  the  breaking  of  a 
woman's  heart.' 

"It  is,'  says  Andy,  'and  I  tell  you  what  I'm 
willing  to  do,  Jeff.  You've  always  been  a  man 
of  a  soft  and  generous  disposition.  Perhaps 
I've  been  too  hard  and  worldly  and  suspicious. 
For  once  I'll  meet  you  half  way.  Go  to  Mrs. 
Trotter  and  tell  her  to  draw  the  $2,000  from  the 
bank  and  give  it  to  this  man  she's  infatuated 
with  and  be  happy.' 

"I  jumps  and  shakes  Andy's  hand  for  five 
minutes,  and  then  I  goes  back  to  Mrs.  Trotter 


"< What' s  this?'  says  Il 
69 


70  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

and  tells  her,  and  she  cries  as  hard  for  joy  as  she 
did  for  sorrow. 

"Two  days  afterward  me  and  Andy  packed 
up  to  go. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  down  and  meet 
Mrs.  Trotter  once  before  we  leave?'  I  asks  him. 
'She'd  like  mightily  to  know  you  and  express 
her  encomiums  and  gratitude.' 

"'Why,  I  guess  not/  says  Andy.  'I  guess 
we'd  better  hurry  and  catch  that  train.' 

"I  was  strapping  our  capital  around  me  in  a 
memory  belt  like  we  always  carried  it,  when 
Andy  pulls  a  roll  of  large  bills  out  of  his  pocket 
and  asks  me  to  put  'em  with  the  rest. 

"What's  this? 'says  I. 

"'It's  Mrs.  Trotter's  two  thousand,'  says 
Andy. 

"How  do  you  come  to  have  it?'  I  asks. 

'"She  gave  it  to  me,'  says  Andy.  'I've  been 
calling  on  her  three  evenings  a  week  for  more 
than  a  month.' 

"'Then  are  you  William  Wilkinson?'  says  I. 

'"I  was,' says  Andy." 


A  MIDSUMMER  MASQUERADE 

SATAN,"  said  Jeff  Peters,  "is  a  hard  boss  to 
work  for.  When  other  people  are  having  their 
vacation  is  when  he  keeps  you  the  busiest.  As 
old  Dr.  Watts  or  St.  Paul  or  some  other  diag 
nostician  says:  'He  always  finds  somebody  for 
idle  hands  to  do.' 

"I  remember  one  summer  when  me  and  my 
partner,  Andy  Tucker,  tried  to  take  a  layoff 
from  our  professional  and  business  duties;  but 
it  seems  that  our  work  followed  us  wherever 
we  went. 

"Now,  with  a  preacher  it's  different.  He  can 
throw  off  his  responsibilities  and  enjoy  himself. 
On  the  3  ist  of  May  he  wraps  mosquito  netting 
and  tin  foil  around  the  pulpit,  grabs  his  niblick, 
breviary  and  fishing  pole  and  hikes  for  Lake 
Como  or  Atlantic  City  according  to  the  size 
of  the  loudness  with  which  he  has  been  called  by 
his  congregation.  And,  sir,  for  three  months 
he  don't  have  to  think  about  business  except  to 
hunt  around  in  Deuteronomy  and  Proverbs  and 
Timothy  to  find  texts  to  cover  and  exculpate 
such  little  midsummer  penances  as  dropping  a 
couple  of  looey  door  on  rouge  or  teaching  a 
Presbyterian  widow  to  swim. 

"  But  I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  mine  and 
Andy's  summer  vacation  that  wasn't  one. 

71 


72  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

"We  was  tired  of  finance  and  all  the  branches 
of  unsanctified  ingenuity.  Even  Andy,  whose 
brain  rarely  ever  stopped  working,  began  to 
make  noises  like  a  tennis  cabinet. 

"'Heigh  ho!'  says  Andy.  'I'm  tired.  I've 
got  that  steam  up  the  yacht  Corsair  and  ho  for 
for  the  Riviera!  feeling.  I  want  to  loaf  and 
indict  my  soul,  as  Walt  Whittier  says.  I  want 
to  play  pinochle  with  Merry  del  Val  or  give  a 
knoutmg  to  the  tenants  on  my  Tarrytown 
estates  or  do  something  summery  and  outside 
the  line  of  routine  and  sand-bagging.' 

"Patience,'  says  I.  'You'll  have  to  climb 
higher  in  the  profession  before  you  can  taste  the 
laurels  that  crown  the  footprints  of  the  great 
captains  of  industry.  Now,  what  I'd  like, 
Andy,'  says  I,  'would  be  a  summer  sojourn  in  a 
mountain  village  far  from  scenes  of  larceny, 
labor  and  overcapitalization.  I'm  tired,  too, 
and  a  month  or  so  of  sinlessness  ought  to  leave 
us  in  good  shape  to  begin  again  to  take  away 
the  white  man's  burdens  in  the  fall.' 

"Andy  fell  in  with  the  rest  cure  idea  at  once, 
so  we  struck  the  general  passenger  agents  of  all 
the  railroads  for  summer  resort  literature,  and 
took  a  week  to  study  out  where  we  should  go. 
I  reckon  the  first  passenger  agent  in  the  world 
was  that  man  Genesis.  But  there  wrasn't  much 
competition  in  his  day,  and  when  he  said:  'The 
Lord  made  the  earth  in  six  days,  and  all  very 
good,'  he  hadn't  any  idea  to  what  extent  the 
press  agents  of  the  summer  hotels  would  plagiar 
ize  from  him  later  on. 

"When  we  finished  the  booklets  we  perceived, 


"Dumps  the  books  out  of  the  back  window" 


73 


74  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

easy,  that  the  United  States  from  Passadumkeg, 
Maine,  to  El  Paso,  and  from  Skagway  to  Key 
West  was  a  paradise  of  glorious  mountain  peaks, 
crystal  lakes,  new  laid-eggs,  golf,  girls,  garages, 
cooling  breezes,  straw  rides,  open  plumbing  and 
tennis;  and  all  within  two  hours'  ride. 

"So  me  and  Andy  dumps  the  books  out  the 
back  window  and  packs  our  trunk  and  takes  the 
6  o'clock  Tortoise  Flyer  for  Crow  Knob,  a  kind 
of  a  dernier  resort  in  the  mountains  on  the  line 
of  Tennessee  and  North  Carolina. 

"We  was  directed  to  a  kind  of  private  hotel 
called  Woodchuck  Inn,  and  thither  me  and 
Andy  bent  and  almost  broke  our  footsteps  over 
the  rocks  and  stumps.  The  Inn  set  back  from 
the  road  in  a  big  grove  of  trees,  and  it  looked 
fine  with  its  broad  porches  and  a  lot  of  women 
in  white  dresses  rocking  in  the  shade.  The  rest 
of  Crow  Knob  was  a  post  office  and  some  scenery 
set  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees  and  a  welkin. 

"Well,  sir,  when  we  got  to  the  gate  who  do 
you  suppose  comes  down  the  walk  to  greet  us? 
Old  Smoke-'em-out  Smithers,  who  used  to  be  the 
best  open  air  painless  dentist  and  electric  liver 
pad  faker  in  the  Southwest. 

"Old  Smoke-'em-out  is  dressed  clerico-rural, 
and  has  the  mingled  air  of  a  landlord  and  a 
claim  jumper.  Which  aspect  he  corroborates 
by  telling  us  that  he  is  the  host  and  perpetrator 
of  Woodchuck  Inn.  I  introduces  Andy,  and  we 
talk  about  a  few  volatile  topics,  such  as  will  go 
around  at  meetings  of  boards  of  directors  and 
old  associates  like  us  three  were.  Old  Smoke- 


A  MIDSUMMER  MASQUERADE  75 

'em-out  leads  us  into  a  kind  of  summer  house  in 
the  yard  near  the  gate  and  took  up  the  harp  of 
life  and  smote  on  all  the  chords  with  his  mighty 
right. 

"'Gents,'  says  he,  'I'm  glad  to  see  you. 
Maybe  you  can  help  me  out  of  a  scrape.  I'm 
getting  a  bit  old  for  street  work,  so  I  leased 
this  dogdays  emporium  so  the  good  things  would 
come  to  me.  Two  weeks  before  the  season 
opened  I  gets  a  letter  signed  Lieut.  Peary  and 
one  from  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  each  want 
ing  to  engage  board  for  part  of  the  summer. 

"'Well,  sir,  you  gents  know  what  a  big  thing 
for  an  obscure  hustlery  it  would  be  to  have  for 
guests  two  gentlemen  whose  names  are  famous 
from  long  association  with  icebergs  and  the 
Coburgs.  So  I  prints  a  lot  of  handbills  an 
nouncing  that  Woodchuck  Inn  would  shelter 
these  distinguished  boarders  during  the  summer, 
except  in  places  where  it  leaked,  and  I  sends 
'em  out  to  towns  around  as  far  as  Knoxville  and 
Charlotte  and  Fish  Dam  and  Bowling  Green. 

"'And  now  look  up  there  on  the  porch,  gents,' 
says  Smoke-'em-out,  'at  them  disconsolate 
specimens  of  their  fair  sex  waiting  for  the  arrival 
of  the  Duke  and  the  Lieutenant.  The  house 
is  packed  from  rafters  to  cellar  with  hero  wor 
shippers. 

"There's  four  normal  school  teachers  and 
two  abnormal;  there's  three  high  school  gradu 
ates  between  37  and  42;  there's  two  literary 
old  maids  and  one  that  can  write;  there's  a 
couple  of  society  women  and  a  lady  from  Haw 


76  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

River.  Two  elocutionists  are  bunking  in  the 
corncrib,  and  I've  put  cots  in  the  hay  loft  for 
the  cook  and  the  society  editress  of  the  Chat 
tanooga  Opera  Glass.  You  see  how  names 
draw,  gents.' 

"Well/  says  I,  'how  is  it  that  you  seem  to  be 
biting  your  thumbs  at  good  luck?  You  didn't 
use  to  be  that  way.' 

"'I  ain't  through,'  says  Smoke-'em-out. 
'Yesterday  was  the  day  for  the  advent  of  the 
auspicious  personages.  I  goes  down  to  the 
depot  to  welcome  'em.  TWTO  apparently  animate 
substances  gets  off  the  train,  both  carrying 
bags  full  of  croquet  mallets  and  these  magic 
lanterns  with  pushbuttons. 

"I  compares  these  integers  with  the  original 
signatures  to  the  letters — and,  well,  gents,  I 
reckon  the  mistake  was  due  to  my  poor  eyesight. 
Instead  of  being  the  Lieutenant,  the  daisy  chain 
and  wild  verbena  explorer  was  none  other  than 
Levi  T.  Peevy,  a  soda  water  clerk  from  Ashe- 
ville.  And  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  turned 
out  to  be  Theo.  Drake  of  Murfreesborough, 
a  bookkeeper  in  a  grocery.  What  did  I  do? 
I  kicked  'em  both  back  on  the  train  and  watched 
'em  depart  for  the  lowlands,  the  low. 

'"Now  you  see  the  fix  I'm  in,  gents,'  goes  on 
Smoke-'em-out  Smithers.  'I  told  the  ladies 
that  the  notorious  visitors  had  been  detained 
on  the  road  by  some  unavoidable  circumstances 
that  made  a  noise  like  an  ice  jam  and  an  heiress, 
but  they  wrould  arrive  a  day  or  two  later.  When 
they  find  out  that  they've  been  deceived,'  says 
Smoke-'em-out,  'every  yard  of  cross-barred 


77 


78  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

muslin  and  natural  waved  switch  in  the  house 
will  pack  up  and  leave.  It's  a  hard  deal,'  says 
old  Smoke-'em-out. 

"Friend/  says  Andy,  touching  the  old  man 
on  the  aesophagus,  'why  this  jeremiad  when  the 
polar  regions  and  the  portals  of  Blenheim  are 
conspiring  to  hand  you  prosperity  on  a  hall 
marked  silver  salver?  We  have  arrived.' 

"A  light  breaks  out  on  Smoke-'em-out's  face. 

"'Can  you  do  it,  gents?'  he  asks.  'Could  ye 
do  it?  Could  ye  play  the  polar  man  and  the 
little  duke  for  the  nice  ladies?  Will  ve  do 
it?' 

"I  see  that  Andy  is  superimposed  with  his  old 
hankering  for  the  oral  and  polyglot  system  of 
buncoing.  That  man  had  a  vocabulary  of 
about  10,000  words  and  synonyms,  which 
arrayed  themselves  into  contraband  sophistries 
and  parables  when  they  came  out. 

".'Listen,'  says  Andy  to  old  Smoke-'em-out. 
'Can  wre  do  it?  You  behold  before  you,  Mr. 
Smithers,  two  of  the  finest  equipped  men  on 
earth  for  inveigling  the  proletariat,  whether 
by  word  of  mouth,  sleight-of-hand  or  swiftness 
of  foot.  Dukes  come  and  go,  explorers  go  and 
get  lost,  but  me  and  Jeff  Peters,'  says  Andy, 
'go  after  the  come-ons  forever.  If  you  say  so, 
we're  the  two  illustrious  guests  you  were  expect 
ing.  And  you'll  find,'  says  Andy,  'that  we'll 
give  you  the  true  local  color  of  the  title  roles 
from  the  aurora  borealis  to  the  ducal  portcullis.' 

"Old  Smoke-'em-out  is  delighted.  He  takes 
me  and  Andy  up  to  the  inn  by  an  arm  apiece, 
telling  us  on  the  way  that  the  finest  fruits  of  the 


79 


8o  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

can  and  luxuries  of  the  fast  freights  should  be 
ours  without  price  as  long  as  we  would  stay. 

"On  the  porch  Smoke-'em-out  says:  'Ladies, 
I  have  the  honor  to  introduce  His  Gracefulness 
the  Duke  of  Marlborough  and  the  famous 
inventor  of  the  North  Pole,  Lieut.  Peary.' 

"The  skirts  all  flutter  and  the  rocking  chairs 
squeak  as  me  and  Andy  bows  and  then  goes  on 
in  with  old  Smoke-'em-out  to  register.  And 
then  we  washed  up  and  turned  our  cuffs,  and 
the  landlord  took  us  to  the  rooms  he'd  been 
saving  for  us  and  got  out  a  demijohn  of  North 
Carolina  real  mountain  dew. 

"I  expected  trouble  when  Andy  began  to 
drink.  He  has  the  artistic  metempsychosis 
which  is  half  drunk  when  sober  and  looks  down 
on  airships  when  stimulated. 

"After  lingering  with  the  demijohn  me  and 
Andy  goes  out  on  the  porch,  where  the  ladies 
are  to  begin  to  earn  our  keep.  We  sit  in  two 
special  chairs  and  then  the  schoolma'ams  and 
literaterrers  hunched  their  rockers  close  around 
us. 

"One  lady  says  to  me:  'How  did  that  last 
venture  of  yours  turn  out,  sir?' 

"Now,  I'd  clean  forgot  to  have  an  under 
standing  with  Andy  which  I  was  to  be,  the  duke 
or  the  lieutenant.  And  I  couldn't  tell  from 
her  question  whether  she  was  referring  to 
Arctic  or  matrimonial  expeditions.  So  I  gave 
an  answer  that  would  cover  both  cases. 

"Well,  ma'am,'  says  I,  'it  was  a  freeze  out — 
right  smart  of  a  freeze  out,  ma'am.' 

"And  then  the  flood  gates  of  Andy's  pero- 


A  MIDSUMMER  MASQUERADE  81 

rations  was  opened  and  I  knew  which  one  of  the 
renowned  ostensible  guests  I  was  supposed  to  be. 
I  wasn't  either.  Andy  was  both.  And  still 
furthermore  it  seemed  that  he  was  trying  to  be 
the  mouthpiece  of  the  entire  British  nobility 
and  of  Arctic  exploration  from  Sir  John  Franklin 
down.  It  was  the  union  of  corn  whiskey  and 
the  conscientious  fictional  form  that  Mr.  W.  D. 
Howletts  admires  so  much. 

"  'Ladies,'  says  Andy,  smiling  semicircularly, 
'I  am  truly  glad  to  visit  America.  I  do  not 
consider  the  magna  charta,'  says  he,  'or  gas 
balloons  or  snow-shoes  in  any  way  a  detriment 
to  the  beauty  and  charm  of  your  American 
women,  skyscrapers  or  the  architecture  of  your 
icebergs.  The  next  time,'  says  Andy,  'that 
I  go  after  the  North  Pole  all  the  Vanderbilts  in 
Greenland  won't  be  able  to  turn  me  out  in  the 
cold — I  mean  make  it  hot  for  me.' 

"Tell  us  about  one  of  your  trips,  Lieutenant,' 
says  one  of  the  normals. 

"'Sure,'  says  Andy,  getting  the"  decision  over  a 
hiccup.  '  It  was  in  the  spring  of  last  year  that  I 
sailed  the  Castle  of  Blenheim  up  to  latitude  87 
degrees  Fahrenheit  and  beat  the  record.  La 
dies,'  says  Andy, '  it  was  a  sad  sight  to  see  a  Duke 
allied  by  a  civil  and  liturgical  chattel  mortgage 
to  one  of  your  first  families  lost  in  a  region  of 
semiannual  days.'  And  then  he  goes  on,  'At 
four  bells  we  sighted  Westminster  Abbey,  but 
there  was  not  a  drop  to  eat.  At  noon  we  threw 
out  five  sandbags,  and  the  ship  rose  fifteen 
knots  higher.  At  midnight,'  continues  Andy, 
'the  restaurants  closed.  Sitting  on  a  cake  of  ice 


82  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

we  ate  seven  hot  dogs.  All  around  us  was  snow 
and  ice.  Six  times  a  night  the  boatswain  rose 
up  and  tore  a  leaf  off  the  calendar  so  we  could 
keep  time  with  the  barometer.  At  12,'  says 
Andy,  with  a  lot  of  anguish  in  his  face,  'three 
huge  polar  bears  sprang  down  the  hatchway, 
into  the  cabin.  And  then — 

'"What  then,  Lieutenant?'  says  a  school- 
ma'am,  excitedly. 

"Andy  gives  a  loud  sob. 
"The  Duchess  shook  me,'  he  cries  out,  and 
slides  out  of  the  chair  and  weeps  on  the  porch. 

"Well,  of  course,  that  fixed  the  scheme.  The 
women  boarders  all  left  the  next  morning. 
The  landlord  wouldn't  speak  to  us  for  two  days, 
but  when  he  found  we  had  money  to  pay  our 
way  he  loosened  up. 

"So  me  and  Andy  had  a  quiet,  restful  summer 
after  all,  coming  away  from  Crow  Knob  with 
$1,100,  that  we  enticed  out  of  old  Smoke-'em- 
out  playing  seven  up." 


SHEARING  THE   WOLF 

JEFF  PETERS  was  always  eloquent  when  the 
ethics  of  his  profession  were  under  discussion. 

"The  only  times,"  said  he,  "that  me  and 
Andy  Tucker  ever  had  any  hiatuses  in  our 
cordial  intents  was  when  we  differed  on  the 
moral  aspects  of  grafting.  Andy  had  his 
standards  and  I  had  mine.  I  didn't  approve 
of  all  of  Andy's  schemes  for  levying  contri 
butions  from  the  public,  and  he  thought  I 
allowed  my  conscience  to  interfere  too  often  for 
the  financial  good  of  the  firm.  We  had  high 
arguments  sometimes.  Once  one  word  led  on 
to  another  till  he  said  I  reminded  him  of  Rocke 
feller. 

"'I  know  how  you  mean  that,  Andy,'  says  I, 
'but  we  have  been  friends  too  long  for  me  to 
take  offense,  at  a  taunt  that  you  will  regret  when 
you  cool  off.  I  have  yet,'  says  I,  'to  shake 
hands  with  a  subposna  server.' 

"One  summer  me  and  Andy  decided  to  rest  up 
a  spell  in  a  fine  little  town  in  the  mountains  of 
Kentucky  called  Grassdale.  We  was  supposed 
to  be  horse  drovers,  and  good  decent  citizens 
besides,  taking  a  summer  vacation.  The  Grass- 
dale  people  liked  us,  and  me  and  Andy  declared 
a  secession  of  hostilities,  never  so  much  as  float 
ing  the  fly  leaf  of  a  rubber  concession  prospectus 

83 


SHEARING  THE  WOLF  85 

or  flashing  a  Brazilian  diamond  while  we  was 
there. 

"One  day  the  leading  hardware  merchant 
of  Grassdale  drops  around  to  the  hotel  where  me 
and  Andy  stopped,  and  smokes  with  us,  sociable, 
on  the  side  porch.  We  knew  him  pretty  well 
from  pitching  quoits  in  the  afternoons  in  the 
court  house  yard.  He  was  a  loud,  red  man, 
breathing  hard,  but  fat  and  respectable  beyond 
all  reason. 

"After  we  talk  on  all  the  notorious  themes  of 
the  day,  this  Murkison — for  such  was  his 
entitlements — takes  a  letter  out  of  his  coat 
pocket  in  a  careful,  careless  way  and  hands  it 
to  us  to  read. 

"Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that?'  says  he, 
laughing — 'a  letter  like  that  to  ME!' 

"Me  and  Andy  sees  at  a  glance  what  it  is;  but 
we  pretend  to  read  it  through.  It  was  one  of 
them  old-time  typewritten  green  goods  letters 
explaining  how  for  $1,000  you  could  get  $5,000 
in  bills  that  an  expert  couldn't  tell  from  the 
genuine;  and  going  on  to  tell  how  they  were 
made  from  plates  stolen  by  an  employee  of  the 
Treasury  at  Washington. 

"'Think  of  'em  sending  a  letter  like  that  to    • 
ME!'  says  Murkison  again. 

"Lots  of  good  men  get  'em,'  says  Andy. 
'If  you  don't  answer  the  first  letter  they  let 
you  drop.  If  you  answer  it  they  write  again 
asking  you  to  come  on  with  your  money  and 
do  business.' 

"But  think  of  'em  writing  to  ME!'  says 
Murkison. 


86 


SHEARING  THE  WOLF  87 

"A  few  days  later  he  drops  around  again. 

"'Boys,'  says  he,  'I  know  you  are  all  right 
or  I  wouldn't  confide  in  you.  I  wrote  to  them 
rascals  again  just  for  fun.  They  answered 
and  told  me  to  come  on  to  Chicago.  They  said 
telegraph  to  J.  Smith  when  I  would  start. 
When  I  get  there  I'm  to  wait  on  a  certain  street 
corner  till  a  man  in  a  gray  suit  comes  along 
and  drops  a  newspaper  in  front  of  me.  Then  I 
am  to  ask  how  the  water  is,  and  he  knows  it's 
me  and  I  know  it's  him.' 

"'Ah,  yes,'  says  Andy,  gaping,  'it's  the  same 
old  game.  I've  often  read  about  it  in  the 
papers.  Then  he  conducts  you  to  the  private 
abattoir  in  the  hotel,  where  Mr.  Jones  is  already 
waiting.  They  show  you  brand-new  real  money 
and  sell  you  all  you  want  at  five  for  one.  You 
see  'em  put  it  in  a  satchel  for  you  and  know 
it's  there.  Of  course  it's  brown  paper  when 
you  come  to  look  at  it  afterward.' 

"'Oh,  they  couldn't  switch  it  on  me,'  says 
Murkison.  'I  haven't  built  up  the  best  paying 
business  in  Grassdale  without  having  witticisms 
about  me.  You  say  it's  real  money  they  show 
you,  Mr.  Tucker?' 

;"I've  always — I  see  by  the  papers  that  it 
always  is,'  says  Andy. 

"Boys,'  says  Murkison,  'I've  got  it  in  my 
mind  that  them  fellows  can't  fool  me.  I  think 
I'll  put  a  couple  of  thousand  in  my  jeans  and 
go  up  there  and  put  it  all  over  'em.  If  Bill 
Murkison  gets  his  eyes  once  on  them  bills  they 
show  him  he'll  never  take  'em  off  of  'em.  They 
offer  $5  for  $i,  and  they'll  have  to  stick  to  the 


88  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

bargain  if  I  tackle  'em.  That's  the  kind  of 
trader  Bill  Murkison  is.  Yes,  I  jist  believe 
I'll  drop  up  Chicago  way  and  take  a  5  to  I  shot 
on  J.  Smith.  I  guess  the  water'll  be  fine  enough.' 

"Me  and  Andy  tries  to  get  this  financial 
misquotation  out  of  Murkison's  head,  but  we 
might  as  well  have  tried  to  keep  the  man  who 
rolls  peanuts  with  a  toothpick  from  betting 
on  Bryan's  election.  No,  sir;  he  was  going  to 
perform  a  public  duty  by  catching  these  green 
goods  swindlers  at  their  own  game.  Maybe  it 
would  teach  'em  a  lesson. 

"After  Murkison  left  us  me  and  Andy  sat 
a  while  prepondering  over  our  silent  meditations 
and  heresies  of  reason.  In  our  idle  hours  we 
always  improved  our  higher  selves  by  ratioci 
nation  and  mental  thought. 

"Jeff,'  says  Andy  after  a  long  time,  'quite 
unseldom  I  have  seen  fit  to  impugn  your  molars 
when  you  have  been  chewing  the  rag  with  me 
about  your  conscientious  way  of  doing  business. 
I  may  have  been  often  wrong.  But  here  is  a 
case  where  I  think  we  can  agree.  I  feel  that 
it  would  be  wrong  for  us  to  allow  Mr.  Murkison 
to  go  alone  to  meet  those  Chicago  green  goods 
men.  There  is  but  one  way  it  can  end.  Don't 
you  think  we  would  both  feel  better  if  we  was 
to  intervene  in  some  way  and  prevent  the  doing 
of  this  deed?' 

"I  got  up  and  shook  Andy  Tucker's  hand  hard 
and  long. 

"'Andy,'  says  I,  'I  may  have  had  one  or  two 
hard  thoughts  about  the  heartlessness  of  your 
corporation,  but  I  retract  'em  now.  You  have 


I0f  course,  it's  brown  paper' 
89 


90  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

a  kind  nucleus  at  the  interior  of  your  exterior 
after  all.  It  does  you  credit.  I  was  just  think 
ing  the  same  thing  that  you  have  expressed. 
It  would  not  be  honorable  or  praiseworthy,' 
says  I,  'for  us  to  let  Murkison  go  on  with  this 
project  he  has  taken  up.  If  he  is  determined 
to  go  let  us  go  with  him  and  prevent  this  swindle 
from  coming  off.' 

"Andy  agreed  with  me;  and  I  was  glad  to  see 
that  he  was  in  earnest  about  breaking  up  this 
green  goods  scheme. 

:"I  don't  call  myself  a  religious  man,'  says 
I,  'or  a  fanatic  in  moral  bigotry,  but  I  can't 
stand  still  and  see  a  man  who  has  built  up  a 
business  by  his  own  efforts  and  brains  and  risk 
be  robbed  by  an  unscrupulous  trickster  who  is 
a  menace  to  the  public  good.' 

'"Right,  Jeff,'  says  Andy.  /We'll  stick  right 
along  with  Murkison  if  he  insists  on  going  and 
block  this  funny  business.  I'd  hate  to  see  any 
money  dropped  in  it  as  bad  as  you  would.' 

"Well,  we  went  to  see  Murkison. 

"'No,  boys,'  says  he.  'I  can't  consent  to  let 
the  song  of  this  Chicago  siren  waft  by  me  on  the 
summer  breeze.  I'll  fry  some  fat  out  of  this 
ignis  fatuus  or  burn  a  hole  in  the  skillet.  But 
I'd  be  plumb  diverted  to  death  to  have  you  all 
go  along  with  me.  Maybe  you  could  help  some 
when  it  comes  to  cashing  in  the  ticket  to  that 
5  to  I  shot.  Yes,  I'd  really  take  it  as  a  pastime 
and  regalement  if  you  boys  would  go  along  too. 

"Murkison  gives  it  out  in  Grassdale  that  he 
is  going  for  a  few  days  with  Mr.  Peters  and  Mr. 
Tucker  to  look  over  some  iron  ore  property  in 


SHEARING  THE  WOLF  gi 

West  Virginia.  He  wires  J.  Smith  that  he  will 
set  foot  in  the  spider  web  on  a  given  date;  and 
the  three  of  us  lights  out  for  Chicago. 

"On  the  way  Murkison  amuses  himself  with 
premonitions  and  advance  pleasant  recollec 
tions. 

"'In  a  gray  suit,'  says  he,  'on  the  southwest 
corner  of  Wabash  Avenue  and  Lake  Street.  He 
drops  the  paper,  and  I  ask  how  the  water  is. 
Oh,  my,  my,  my!'  And  then  he  laughs  all  over 
for  five  minutes. 

"Sometimes  Murkison  was  serious  and  tried 
to  talk  himself  out  of  his  cogitations,  whatever 
they  was. 

"'Boys,'  says  he,  'I  wouldn't  have  this  to  get 
out  in  Grassdale  for  ten  times  a  thousand 
dollars.  It  would  ruin  me  there.  But  I  know 
you  all  are  all  right.  I  think  it's  the  duty  of 
evety  citizen,'  says  he,  'to  try  to  do  up  these 
robbers  that  prey  upon  the  public.  I'll  show 
'em  whether  the  water's  fine.  Five  dollars 
for  one — that's  what  J.  Smith  offers,  and  he'll 
have  to  keep  his  contract  if  he  does  business 
with  Bill  Murkison.' 

"We  got  into  Chicago  about  7  P.  M.  Mur 
kison  was  to  meet  the  gray  man  at  half-past 
9.  We  had  dinner  at  a  hotel  and  then  went 
up  to  Murkison's  room  to  wait  for  the  time  to 
come. 

"Now,  boys,'  says  Murkison,  'let's  get  our 
gumption  together  and  inoculate  a  plan  for 
defeating  the  enemy.  Suppose  while  I'm  ex 
changing  airy  bandage  with  the  gray  capper 
you  gents  come  alone,  by  accident,  you  know, 


92  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

and  holler:  "Hello,  Murk!"  and  shake  hands 
with  symptoms  of  surprise  and  familiarity. 
Then  I  take  the  capper  aside  and  tell  him  you 
all  are  Jenkins  and  Brown  of  Grassdale,  gro 
ceries  and  feed,  good  men  and  maybe  willing  to 
take  a  chance  while  away  from  home.' 

"Bring  'em  along,"  he'll  say,  of  course, 
"if  they  care  to  invest."  Now,  how  does  that 
scheme  strike  you?' 

"What  do  you  say,  Jeff?'  says  Andy,  looking 
at  me. 

"'Why,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  say,'  says  I.  'I 
say  let's  settle  this  thing  right  here  now.  I 
don't  see  any  use  of  wrasting  any  more  time.' 
I  took  a  nickel-plated  .38  out  of  my  pocket  and 
clicked  the  cylinder  around  a  few  times. 

"You  undevout,  sinful,  insidious  hog,'  says 
I  to  Murkison,  'get  out  that  two  thousand  and 
lay  it  on  the  table.  Obey  with  velocity,'  says  I, 
'for  otherwise  alternatives  are  impending.  I 
am  preferably  a  man  of  mildness,  but  now  and 
then  I  find  myself  in  the  middle  of  extremities. 
Such  men  as  you,'  I  went  on  after  he  had  laid 
the  money  out,  'is  what  keeps  the  jails  and 
court  houses  going.  You  come  up  here  to  rob 
these  men  of  their  money.  Does  it  excuse  you  ? ' 
I  asks,  'that  they  were  trying  to  skin  you? 
No,  sir;  you  was  going  to  rob  Peter  to  stand  off 
Paul.  You  are  ten  times  worse,'  says  I,  'than 
that  green  goods  man.  You  go  to  church 
at  home  and  pretend  to  be  a  decent  citizen, 
but  you'll  come  to  Chicago  and  commit  larceny 
from  men  that  have  built  up  a  sound  and 


SHEARING  THE  WOLF  93 

profitable  business  by  dealing  with  such  con 
temptible  scoundrels  as  you  have  tried  to  be 
to-day.  How  do  you  know,'  says  I,  'that  that 
green  goods  man  hasn't  a  large  family  dependent 
upon  his  extortions?  It's  you  supposedly 
respectable  citizens  who  are  always  on  the 
lookout  to  get  something  for  nothing,'  says  I, 
'that  support  the  lotteries  and  wild-cat  mines 
and  stock  exchanges  and  wire  tappers  of  this 
country.  If  it  wasn't  for  you  they'd  go  out 
of  business.  The  green  goods  man  you  was 
going  to  rob,'  says  I,  'studied  maybe  for  years 
to  learn  his  trade.  Every  turn  he  makes  he 
risks  his  money  and  liberty  and  maybe  his  life. 
You  come  up  here  all  sanctified  and  vanoplied 
with  respectability  and  a  pleasing  post  office 
address  to  swindle  him.  If  he  gets  the  money 
you  can  squeal  to  the  police.  If  you  get  it  he 
hocks  the  gray  suit  to  buy  supper  and  says 
nothing.  Mr.  Tucker  and  me  sized  you  up,' 
says  I,  'and  came  along  to  see  that  you  got 
what  you  deserved.  Hand  over  the  money,' 
says  I,  'you  grass-fed  hypocrite.' 

"  I  put  the  two  thousand,  wThich  was  all  in  $20 
bills,  in  my  inside  pocket. 

"Now  get  out  your  watch,'  says  I  to  Murk- 
ison.  'No,  I  don't  want  it,'  says  I.  'Lay  it  on 
the  table  and  you  sit  in  that  chair  till  it  ticks 
off  an  hour.  Then  you  can  go.  If  you  make 
any  noise  or  leave  any  sooner  we'll  handbill  you 
all  over  Grassdale.  I  guess  your  high  position 
there  is  worth  more  than  $2,000  to  you.' 

"Then  me  and  Andy  left. 


94  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

"On  the  train  Andy  was  a  long  time  silent. 
Then  he  says:  'Jeff,  do  you  mind  my  asking  you 
a  question?' 

"Two,'  says  I,  'or  forty.' 

"Was  that  the  idea  you  had/  says  he,  'when 
we  started  out  with  Murkison?' 

"'Why  certainly,'  says  I.  'What  else  could  it 
have  been?  Wasn't  it  yours,  too?' 

"In  about  half  an  hour  Andy  spoke  again. 
I  think  there  are  times  when  Andy  don't  exactly 
understand  my  system  of  ethics  and  moral 
hygiene. 

"Jeff/  says  he,  'some  time  when  you  have 
the  leisure  I  wish  you'd  draw  off  a  diagram  and 
footnotes  of  that  conscience  of  yours.  I'd  like 
to  have  it  to  refer  to  occasionally."1 


INNOCENTS  OF  BROADWAY 

I  HOPE  some  day  to  retire  from  business," 
said  Jeff  Peters;  "and  when  I  do  I  don't  want 
anybody  to  be  able  to  say  that  I  ever  got  a 
dollar  of  any  man's  money  without  giving  him 
a  quid  pro  rata  for  it.  I've  always  managed 
to  leave  a  customer  some  little  gewgaw  to  paste 
in  his  scrapbook  or  stick  between  his  Seth 
Thomas  clock  and  the  wall  after  we  are  through 
trading. 

"There  was  one  time  I  came  near  having 
to  break  this  rule  of  mine  and  do  a  profligate 
and  illaudable  action,  but  I  was  saved  from 
it  by  the  laws  and  statutes  of  our  great  and 
profitable  country. 

"One  summer  me  and  Andy  Tucker,  my 
partner,  went  to  New  York  to  lay  in  our  annual 
assortment  of  clothes  and  gents'  furnishings. 
We  was  always  pompous  and  regardless  dressers, 
finding  that  looks  went  further  than  anything 
else  in  our  business,  except  maybe  our  knowl 
edge  of  railroad  schedules  and  an  autograph 
photo  of  the  President  that  Loeb  sent  us, 
probably  by  mistake.  Andy  wrote  a  nature 
letter  once  and  sent  it  in  about  animals  that  he 
had  seen  caught  in  a  trap  lots  of  times.  Loeb 
must  have  read  it  'triplets,'  instead  of  'trap 
lots,'  and  sent  the  photo.  Anyhow,  it  was  use- 

95 


96  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

ful  to  us  to  show  people  as  a  guarantee  of  good 
faith. 

"Me  and  Andy  never  cared  much  to  do 
business  in  New  York.  It  was  too  much  like 
pothunting.  Catching  suckers  in  that  town, 
is  like  dynamiting  a  Texas  lake  for  bass.  All 
you  have  to  do  anywhere  between  the  North 
and  East  rivers  is  to  stand  in  the  street  with  an 
open  bag  marked,  'Drop  packages  of  money 
here.  No  checks  or  lose  bills  taken.'  You 
have  a  cop  handy  to  club  pikers  who  try  to 
chip  in  post  office  orders  and  Canadian  money, 
and  that's  all  there  is  to  New  York  for  a  hunter 
who  loves  his  profession.  So  me  and  Andy 
used  to  just  nature  fake  the  town.  We'd  get 
out  our  spyglasses  and  watch  the  woodcocks 
along  the  Broadway  swamps  putting  plaster 
casts  on  their  broken  legs,  and  then  we'd  sneak 
away  without  firing  a  shot. 

"One  day  in  the  papier  mache  palm  room  of  a 
chloral  hydrate  and  hops  agency  in  a  side  street 
about  eight  inches  off  Broadway  me  and  Andy 
had  thrust  upon  us  the  acquaintance  of  a  New 
Yorker.  We  had  beer  together  until  we  dis 
covered  that  each  of  us  knew  a  man  named 
Hellsmith,  travelling  for  a  stove  factory  in 
Duluth.  This  caused  us  to  remark  that  the 
world  was  a  very  small  place,  and  then  this 
New  Yorker  busts  his  string  and  takes  off  his 
tin  foil  and  excelsior  packing  and  starts  in  giving 
us  his  Ellen  Terris,  beginning  with  the  time 
he  used  to  sell  shoelaces  to  the  Indians  on  the 
spot  where  Tammany  Hall  now  stands. 

"This    New   Yorker    had    made    his    money 


INNOCENTS  OF  BROADWAY 


97 


keeping  a  cigar  store  in  Beekman  Street,  and  he 
hadn't  been  above  Fourteenth  Street  in  ten 
years.  Moreover,  he  had  whiskers,  and  the 
time  has  gone  by  when  a  true  sport  will  do 
anything  to  a  man  with  whiskers.  No  grafter 


/  want  you  to  take  care  of  my  money  for  me 


except  a  boy  who  is  soliciting  subscribers  to 
an  illustrated  weekly  to  win  the  prize  air  rifle,  or 
a  widow,  would  have  the  heart  to  tamper  with  the 
man  behind  with  the  razor.  He  was  a  typical 
city  Reub  —  I'd  bet  the  man  hadn't  been  out  of 
sight  of  a  skyscraper  in  twenty-five  years. 
"Well,  presently  this  metropolitan  back- 


98  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

woodsman  pulls  out  a  roll  of  bills  with  an  old 
blue  sleeve  elastic  fitting  tight  around  it  and 
opens  it  up. 

"There's  $5,000,  Mr.  Peters,'  says  he, 
shoving  it  over  the  table  to  me,  'saved  during 
my  fifteen  years  of  business.  Put  that  in  your 
pocket  and  keep  it  for  me,  Mr.  Peters.  I'm 
glad  to  meet  you  gentlemen  from  the  West,  and 
I  may  take  a  drop  too  much.  I  want  you  to 
take  care  of  my  money  for  me.  Now,  let's  have 
another  beer.' 

"You'd  better  keep  this  yourself,'  says  I. 
'We  are  strangers  to  you,  and  you  can't  trust 
everybody  you  meet.  Put  your  roll  back  in 
your  pocket,'  says  I.  'And  you'd  better  run 
along  home  before  some  farm-hand  from  the 
Kaw  River  bottoms  strolls  in  here  and  sells  you 
a  copper  mine.' 

"'Oh,  I  don't  know,'  says  Wliiskers,  'I  guess 
Little  Old  New  York  can  take  care  of  herself.  I 
guess  I  know  a  man  that's  on  the  square  when  I 
see  him.  I've  always  found  the  Western  people 
all  right.  I  ask  you  as  a  favor,  Mr.  Peters/ 
says  he,  'to  keep  that  roll  in  your  pocket  for  me. 
I  know  a  gentleman  when  I  see  him.  And  now 
let's  have  some  more  beer.' 

"In  about  ten  minutes  this  fall  of  manna 
leans  back  in  his  chair  and  snores.  Andy  looks 
at  me  and  says:  *I  reckon  I'd  better  stay  with 
him  for  five  minutes  or  so,  in  case  the  waiter 
comes  in/ 

"I  went  out  the  side  door  and  walked  half 
a  block  up  the  street.  And  then  I  came  back 
and  sat  down  at  the  table. 


INNOCENTS  OF  BROADWAY  99 

"'Andy,'  says  I,  'I  can't  do  it.  It's  too  much 
like  swearing  off  taxes.  I  can't  go  off  with  this 
man's  money  without  doing  something  to  earn 
it  like  taking  advantage  of  the  Bankrupt  act 
or  leaving  a  bottle  of  eczema  lotion  in  his  pDcket 
to  make  it  look  more  like  a  square  deal.' 

"'Well,'  says  Andy,  'it  does  seem  kind  of  hard 
on  one's  professional  pride  to  lope  off  with  a 
bearded  pard's  competency,  especially  after  he 
has  nominated  you  custodian  of  his  bundle 
in  the  sappy  insouciance  of  his  urban  indis 
crimination.  Suppose  we  wake  him  up  and  see 
if  we  can  formulate  some  commercial  sophistry 
by  which  he  will  be  enabled  to  give  us  both 
his  money  and  a  good  excuse.' 

"We  wakes  up  Whiskers.  He  stretches 
himself  and  yawns  out  the  hypothesis  that  he 
must  have  dropped  off  for  a  minute.  And  then 
he  says  he  wouldn't  mind  sitting  in  at  a  little 
gentleman's  game  of  poker.  He  used  to  play 
some  when  he  attended  high  school  in  Brooklyn; 
and  as  he  was  out  for  a  good  time,  why — and  so 
forth. 

"Andy  brights  up  a  little  at  that,  for  it  looks 
like  it  might  be  a  solution  to  our  financial 
troubles.  So  we  all  three  go  to  our  hotel  further 
down  Broadway  and  have  the  cards  and  chips 
brought  up  to  Andy's  room.  I  tried  once  more 
to  make  this  Babe  in  the  Horticultural  Gardens 
take  his  five  thousand.  But  no. 

"'Keep  that  little  roll  for  me,  Mr.  Peters,' 
says  he,  'and  oblige.  I'll  ask  you  fer  it  when 
I  want  it.  I  guess  I  know  when  I'm  among 
friends.  A  man  that's  done  business  on  Beek- 


ioo  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

man  Street  for  twenty  years,  right  in  the  heart  of 
the  wisest  little  old  village  on  earth,  ought  to 
know  what  he's  about.  I  guess  I  can  tell  a  gen 
tleman  from  a  con  man  or  a  flimflammer  when  I 
meet  him.  I've  got  some  odd  change,  in  my 
clothes — enough  to  start  the  game  with,  I  guess.' 

"He  goes  through  his  pockets  and  rains 
$20  gold  certificates  on  the  table  till  it  looked 
like  a  $10,000  'Autumn  Day  in  a  Lemon  Grove' 
picture  by  Turner  in  the  salons.  Andy  almost 
smiled. 

"The  first  round  that  was  dealt,  this  boule- 
vardier  slaps  down  his  hand,  claims  low  and  jack 
and  big  casino  and  rakes  in  the  pot. 

"Andy  always  took  a  pride  in  his  poker 
playing.  He  got  up  from  the  table  and  looked 
sadly  out  of  the  window  at  the  street  cars. 

"Well,  gentlemen,'  says  the   cigar  man,    'I 
don't  blame  you  for  not  wanting  to  play.     I've 
forgotten  the  fine  points  of  the  game,  I  guess, 
it's  been  so  long  since  I  indulged.     Now,  how 
long  are  you  gentlemen  going  to  be  in  the  city?' 

"I  told  him  about  a  week  longer.  He  says 
that'll  suit  him  fine.  His  cousin  is  coming 
over  from  Brooklyn  that  evening  and  they  aAe 
going  to  see  the  sights  of  New  York.  His 
cousin,  he  says,  is  in  the  artificial  limb  and  lead 
casket  business,  and  hasn't  crossed  the  bridge 
in  eight  years.  They  expect  to  have  the  time 
of  their  lives,  and  he  winds  up  by  asking  me  to 
keep  his  roll  of  money  for  him  till  next  day. 
I  tried  to  make  him  take  it,  but  it  only  insulted 
him  to  mention  it. 

"'I'll  use  what  I've  got  in  loose  change,'  says 


INNOCENTS  OF  BROADWAY  101 

he.  'You  keep  the  rest  for  me.  I'll  drop  in 
on  you  and  Mr.  Tucker  to-morrow  afternoon 
about  6  or  7,'  says  he,  'and  we'll  have  dinner 
together.  Be  good.' 

"After  Whiskers  had  gone  Andy  looked  at  me 
curious  and  doubtful. 

"'Well,  Jeff,'  says  he,  'it  looks  like  the  ravens 
are  trying  to  feed  us  two  Elijahs  so  hard  that  if 
we  turned  'em  down  again  we  ought  to  have  the 
Audubon  Society  after  us.  It  won't  do  to  put 
the  crown  aside  too  often.  I  know  this  is 
something  like  paternalism,  but  don't  you  think 
Opportunity  has  skinned  its  knuckles  about 
enough  knocking  at  our  door?' 

"I  put  my  feet  on  the  table  and  my  hands  in 
mv  pockets,  which  is  an  attitude  unfavorable 
to  frivolous  thoughts. 

"'Andy,'  says  I,  'this  man  with  the  hirsute 
whiskers  has  got  us  in  a  predicament.  We  can't 
move  hand  or  foot  with  his  money.  You  and 
me  have  got  a  gentleman's  agreement  with 
Fortune  that  we  can't  break.  We've  done 
business  in  the  West  where  it's  more  of  a  fair 
game.  Out  there  the  people  we  skin  are  trying 
to  skin  us,  even  the  farmers  and  the  remittance 
men  that  the  magazines  send  out  to  write  up 
Goldfields.  But  there's  little  sport  in  New 
York  city  for  rod,  reel  or  gun.  They  hunt  here 
with  either  one  of  two  things — a  slungshot  or 
a  letter  of  introduction.  The  town  has  been 
stocked  so  full  of  carp  that  the  game  fish  are  all 
gone.  If  you  spread  a  net  here,  do  you  catch 
legitimate  suckers  in  it,  such  as  the  Lord  in 
tended  to  be  caught — fresh  guys  who  know  it  all, 


102  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

sports  with  a  little  coin  and  the  nerve  to  play 
another  man's  game,  street  crowds  out  for  the 
fun  of  dropping  a  dollar  or  two  and  village 
smarties  who  know  just  where  the  little  pea  is? 
No,  sir,'  says  I.  'What  the  grafters  live  on 
here  is  widows  and  orphans,  and  foreigners  who 
save  up  a  bag  of  money  and  hand  it  over  the 
first  counter  they  see  with  an  iron  railing  to  it, 
and  factory  girls  and  little  shopkeepers  that 
never  leave  the  block  they  do  business  on. 
That's  what  they  call  suckers  here.  They're 
nothing  but  canned  sardines,  and  all  the  bait  you 
need  to  catch  'em  is  a  pocketknife  and  a  soda 
cracker. 

"'Now,  this  cigar  man,'  I  went  on,  'is  one  of 
the  types.  He's  lived  twenty  years  on  one 
street  without  learning  as  much  as  you  would  in 
getting  a  once-over  shave  from  a  lock] awed 
barber  in  a  Kansas  crossroads  town.  But  he's 
a  New  Yorker,  and  he'll  brag  about  that  all  the 
time  when  he  isn't  picking  up  live  wires  or 
getting  in  front  of  street  cars  or  paying  out 
money  to  wire -tappers  or  standing  under  a  safe 
that's  being  hoisted  into  a  sky-scraper.  When 
a  New  Yorker  does  loosen  up,'  says  I,  'it's  like 
the  spring  decomposition  of  the  ice  jam  in 
the  Allegheny  River.  He'll  swamp  you  with 
cracked  ice  and  backwater  if  you  don't  get  out 
of  the  way. 

"'It's  mighty  lucky  for  us,  Andy,'  says  I, 
'that  this  cigar  exponent  with  the  parsley 
dressing  saw  fit  to  bedeck  us  with  his  childlike 
trust  and  altruism.  For,'  says  I,  'this  money 
of  his  is  an  eyesore  to  my  sense  of  rectitude  and 


"We  cant  take  it,  Andy' 
103 


104  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

ethics.  We  can't  take  it,  Andy;  you  know  we 
can't,'  says  I,  'for  we  haven't  a  shadow  of  a 
title  to  it — not  a  shadow.  If  there  was  the 
least  bit  of  a  way  we  could  put  in  a  claim  to  it 
I'd  be  willing  to  see  him  start  in  for  another 
twenty  years  and  make  another  $5,000  for  him 
self,  but  we  haven't  sold  him  anything,  we 
haven't  been  embroiled  in  a  trade  or  anything 
commercial.  He  approached  us  friendly,'  says 
I,  'and  with  blind  and  beautiful  idiocy  laid  the 
stuff  in  our  hands.  We'll  have  to  give  it  back 
to  him  when  he  wants  it.' 

"Your  arguments,'  says  Andy,  'are  past 
criticism  or  comprehension.  No,  we  can't  walk 
off  with  the  money — as  things  now  stand. 
I  admire  your  conscious  way  of  doing  business, 
Jeff,'  says  Andy,  'and  I  wouldn't  propose  any 
thing  that  wasn't  square  in  line  with  your 
theories  of  morality  and  initiative. 

"But  I'll  be  away  to-night  and  most  of 
to-morrow  Jeff,'  says  Andy.  'I've  got  some 
business  affairs  that  I  want  to  attend  to.  When 
this  free  greenbacks  party  comes  in  to-morrow 
afternoon  hold  him  here  till  I  arrive.  We've 
all  got  an  engagement  for  dinner,  you  know.' 
"Well,  sir,  about  5  the  next  afternoon  in 
trips  the  cigar  man,  with  his  eyes  half  open. 

"'Been  having  a  glorious  time,  Mr.  Peters,' 
says  he.  'Took  in  all  the  sights.  I  tell  you 
New  York  is  the  onliest  only.  Now  if  you 
don't  mind,'  says  he,  '  I'll  lie  down  on  that  couch 
and  doze  off  for  about  nine  minutes  before  Mr. 
Tucker  comes.  I'm  not  used  to  being  up  all 
night.  And  to-morrow,  if  you  don't  mind, 


INNOCENTS  OF  BROADWAY  105 

Mr.  Peters,  I'll  take  that  five  thousand.  I  met 
a  man  last  night  that's  got  a  sure  winner  at  the 
race-track  to-morrow.  Excuse  me  for  being  so 
impolite  as  to  go  asleep,  Mr.  Peters.' 

"And  so  this  inhabitant  of  the  second  city 
in  the  world  reposes  himself  and  begins  to  snore, 
while  I  sit  there  musing  over  things  and  wishing 
I  was  back  in  the  West,  where  you  could  always 
depend  on  a  customer  fighting  to  keep  his 
money  hard  enough  to  let  your  conscience  take 
it  from  him. 

"At  half-past  5  Andy  come  in  and  sees  the 
sleeping  form. 

"I've  been  over  to  Trenton,'  says  Andy, 
pulling  a  document  out  of  his  pocket.  'I  think 
I've  got  this  matter  fixed  up  all  right,  Jeff. 
Look  at  that.' 

"I  open  the  paper  and  see  that  it  is  a  cor 
poration  charter  issued  by  the  State  of  New 
Jersey  to  'The  Peters  &  Tucker  Consolidated 
and  Amalgamated  Aerial  Franchise  Develop 
ment  Company,  Limited/ 

"It's  to  buy  up  rights  of  way  for  airship 
lines,'  explained  Andy.  'The  Legislature  wasn't 
in  session,  but  I  found  a  man  at  a  postcard 
stand  in  the  lobby  that  kept  a  stock  of  charters 
on  hand.  There  are  100,000  shares,'  says  Andy, 
'expected  to  reach  a  par  value  of  $i.  I  had  one 
blank  certificate  of  stock  printed.' 

"Andy  takes  out  the  blank  and  begins  to  fill 
it  in  with  a  fountain  pen. 

"The  whole  bunch,'  says  he,  'goes  to  our 
friend  in  dreamland  for  $5,000.  Did  you 
learn  his  name?' 


io6 


INNOCENTS  OF  BROADWAY  ..          107 

"'Make  it  out  to  bearer,'  says  I. 

"We  put  the  certificate  of  stock  in  the  cigar 
man's  hand  and  went  out  to  pack  our  suit  cases. 

"On  the  ferryboat  Andy  says  to  me:  'Is  your 
conscience  easy  about  taking  the  money  now, 
Jeff?' 

"Why  shouldn't  it  be?'  says  I.  'Are  we  any 
better  than  any  other  Holding  Corporation?" 


CONSCIENCE  IN  ART 

[  NEVER  could  hold  my  partner,  Andy 
Tucker,  down  to  legitimate  ethics  of  pure 
swindling,"  said  Jeff  Peters  to  me  one  day. 

"Andy  had  too  much  imagination  to  be 
honest.  He  used  to  devise  schemes  of  money- 
getting  so  fraudulentand  high-financial  thatthey 
wouldn't  have  been  allowed  in  the  bylaws  of  a 
railroad  rebate  system. 

"Myself,  I  never  believed  in  taking  any  man's 
dollars  unless  I  gave  him  something  for  it — 
something  in  the  way  of  rolled  gold  jewelry, 
garden  seeds,  lumbago  lotion,  stock  certificates, 
stove  polish  or  a  crack  on  the  head  to  show  for 
his  money.  I  guess  I  must  have  had  New 
England  ancestors  away  back  and  inherited 
some  of  their  stanch  and  rugged  fear  of  the 
police. 

"But  Andy's  family  tree  was  in  different 
kind.  I  don't  think  he  could  have  traced  his 
descent  any  further  back  than  a  corporation. 

"One  summer  while  we  was  in  the  middle 
West,  working  down  the  Ohio  valley  with  a  line 
of  family  albums,  headache  powders  and  roach 
destroyer,  Andy  takes  one  of  his  notions  of  high 
and  actionable  financiering. 

"'Jeff,'  says  he,  'I've  been  thinking  that  we 
ought  to  drop  these  rutabaga  fanciers  and  give 
108 


CONSCIENCE  IN  ART  109 

our  attention  to  something  more  nourishing  and 
prolific.  If  we  keep  on  snapshooting  these 
hinds  for  their  egg  money  we'll  be  classed  as 
nature  fakers.  How  about  plunging  into  the 
fastnesses  of  the  skyscraper  country  and  biting 
some  big  bull  caribous  in  the  chest?' 

"Well,'  says  I,  'you  know  my  idiosyncrasies. 
I  prefer  a  square,  non-illegal  style  of  business 
such  as  we  are  carrying  on  now.  When  I  take 
money  I  want  to  leave  some  tangible  object 
in  the  other  fellow's  hands  for  him  to  gaze  at 
and  to  distract  his  attention  from  my  spoor,  even 
if  it's  only  a  Komical  Kuss  Trick  Finger  Ring 
for  Squirting  Perfume  in  a  Friend's  Eye.  But 
if  you've  got  a  fresh  idea,  Andy,'  says  I,  'let's 
have  a  look  at  it.  I'm  not  so  wedded  to  petty 
graft  that  I  would  refuse  something  better  in  the 
way  of  a  subsidy.' 

"I  was  thinking,'  says  Andy,  'of  a  little  hunt 
without  horn,  hound  or  camera  among  the  great 
herd  of  the  Midas  Americanus,  commonly  known 
as  the  Pittsburg  millionaires.' 

"'In  New  York?'  I  asks. 

"'No,  sir,'  says  Andy,  'in  Pittsburg.  That's 
their  habitat.  They  don't  like  New  York.  They 
go  there  now  and  then  just  because  it's  expected 
of  'em.' 

"'A  Pittsburg  millionaire  in  New  York  is  like 
a  fly  in  a  cup  of  hot  coffee — he  attracts  attention 
and  comment,  but  he  don't  enjoy  it.  New  York 
ridicules  him  for  "blowing"  so  much  money 
in  that  town  of  sneaks  and  snobs,  and  sneers. 
The  truth  is,  he  don't  spend  anything  while  he 
is  there.  I  saw  a  memorandum  of  expenses 


no  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

for  a  ten  days'  trip  to  Bunkum  Town  made  by 
a  Pittsburg  man  worth  $15,000,000  once. 
Here's  the  way  he  set  it  down: 

R.  R.  fare  to  and  from $      21  oo 

Cab  fare  to  and  from  hotel .  .  . .' 2  oo 

Hotel  bill  @  $5  per  day 50  oo 

Tips S>750  oo 

Total $5,823  oo 

"That's  the  voice  of  New  York,'  goes  on 
Andy.  'The  town's  nothing  but  a  head  waiter. 
If  you  tip  it  too  much  it'll  go  and  stand  by  the 
door  and  make  fun  of  you  to  the  hat  check  boy. 
When  a  Pittsburger  wants  to  spend  money  and 
have  a  good  time  he  stays  at  home.  That's 
where  we'll  go  to  catch  him.' 

"Well,  to  make  a  dense  story  more  condensed, 
me  and  Andy  cached  our  paris  green  and 
antipyrine  powders  and  albums  in  a  friend's 
cellar,  and  took  the  trail  to  Pittsburg.  Andy 
didn't  have  any  especial  prospectus  of  chicanery 
and  violence  drawn  up,  but  he  always  had  plenty 
of  confidence  that  his  immoral  nature  would 
rise  to  any  occasion  that  presented  itself. 

"As  a  concession  to  my  ideas  of  self-preser 
vation  and  rectitude  he  promised  that  if  I  should 
take  an  active  and  incriminating  part  in  any 
little  business  venture  that  we  might  work  up, 
there  should  be  something  actual  and  cognizant 
to  the  senses  of  touch,  sight,  taste  or  smell  to 
transfer  to  the  victim  for  the  money  so  my 
conscience  might  rest  easy.  After  that  I  felt 
better  and  entered  more  cheerfully  into  the  foul 
play. 


CONSCIENCE  IN  ART  nt 

"'Andy,'  says  I,  as  we  strayed  through  the 
smoke  along  the  cinderpath  they  call  Smithfield 
Street,  'had  you  figured  out  how  we  are  going 
to  get  acquainted  with  these  coke  kings  and  pig 
iron  squeezers?  Not  that  I  would  decry  my 
own  worth  or  system  of  drawing-room  deport 
ment,  and  work  with  the  olive  fork  and  pie 
knife,'  says  I,  'but  isn't  the  entree  nous  into 
the  salons  of  the  stogie  smokers  going  to  be 
harder  than  you  imagined?' 

'"If  there's  any  handicap  at  all,'  says  Andy, 
'it's  our  own  refinement  and  inherent  culture. 
Pittsburg  millionaires  are  a  fine  body  of  plain, 
wholehearted,  unassuming,  democratic  men. 

"They  are  rough  but  uncivil  in  their  man 
ners,  and  though  their  ways  are  boisterous  and 
unpolished,  under  it  all  they  have  a  great  deal 
of  impoliteness  and  discourtesy.  Nearly  every 
one  of  'em  rose  from  obscurity,'  says  Andy,  'and 
they'll  live  in  it  till  the  town  gets  to  using  smoke 
consumers.  If  we  act  simple  and  unaffected 
and  don't  go  too  far  from  the  saloons  and  keep 
making  a  noise  like  an  import  duty  on  steel 
rails  we  won't  have  any  trouble  in  meeting 
some  of  'em  socially.' 

"Well,  Andy  and  me  drifted  about  town  three 
or  four  days  getting  our  bearings.  We  got  to 
knowing  several  millionaires  by  sight. 

"One  used  to  stop  his  automobile  in  front  of 
our  hotel  and  have  a  quart  of  champagne 
brought  out  to  him.  When  the  waiter  opened 
it  he'd  turn  it  up  to  his  mouth  and  drink  it  out 
of  the  bottle.  That  showed  he  used  to  be  a 
glassblower  before  he  made  his  money. 


ii2  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

"One  evening  Andy  failed  to  come  to  the 
hotel  for  dinner.  About  n  o'clock  he  came 
into  my  room. 

'"Landed  one,  Jeff,'  says  he.  'Twelve  mil 
lions.  Oil,  rolling  mills,  real  estate  and  natural 
gas.  He's  a  fine  man;  no  airs  about  him.  Made 
all  his  money  in  the  last  five  years.  He's  got 
professors  posting  him  up  now  on  education — 
art  and  literature  and  haberdashery  and  such 
things. 

"When  I  saw  him  he'd  just  won  a  bet  of 
$10,000  with  a  Steel  Corporation  man  that 
there'd  be  four  suicides  in  the  Allegheny  rolling 
mills  to-day.  So  everybody  in  sight  had  to 
walk  up  and  have  drinks  on  him.  He  took  a 
fancy  to  me  and  asked  me  to  dinner  with  him. 
We  went  to  a  restaurant  in  Diamond  Alley  and 
sat  on  stools  and  had  sparkling  Moselle  and 
clam  chowder  and  apple  fritters. 

"Then  he  wanted  to  show  me  his  bachelor 
apartment  on  Liberty  Street.  He's  got  ten 
rooms  over  a  fish  market  with  privilege  of  the 
bath  on  the  next  floor  above.  He  told  me  it 
cost  him  $18,000  to  furnish  his  apartment,  and 
I  believe  it. 

'"He's  got  $40,000  worth  of  pictures  in  one 
room,  and  $20,000  worth  of  curios  and  antiques 
in  another.  His  name's  Scudder,  and  he's  45, 
and  taking  lessons  on  the  piano  and  15,000 
barrels  of  oil  a  day  out  of  his  wells. 

'"All  right,'  says  I.  'Preliminary  canter 
satisfactory.  But,  kay  vooly,  voo  ?  What  good 
is  the  art  junk  to  us?  And  the  oil?' 


CONSCIENCE  IN  ART  113 

'"Now,  that  man,'  says  Andy,  sitting 
thoughtfully  on  the  bed,  'ain't  what  you  would 
call  an  ordinary  scutt.  When  he  was  showing 
me  his  cabinet  of  art  curios  his  face  lighted  up 
like  the  door  of  a  coke  oven.  He  says  that  if 
some  of  his  big  deals  go  through  he'll  make 
J.  P.  Morgan's  collection  of  sweatshop  tapestry 
and  Augusta,  Me.,  beadwork  look  like  the  con 
tents  of  an  ostrich's  craw  thrown  on  a  screen 
by  a  magic  lantern. 

"'And  then  he  showed  me  a  little  carving,' 
went  on  Andy,  'that  anybody  could  see  was  a 
wonderful  thing.  It  was  something  like  2,000 
years  old,  he  said.  It  was  a  lotus  flower  with 
a  woman's  face  in  it  carved  out  of  a  solid  piece 
of  ivory. 

"Scudder  looks  it  up  in  a  catalogue  and 
describes  it.  An  Egyptian  carver  named  Khafra 
made  two  of  'em  for  King  Rameses  II  about 
the  year  B.  C.  The  other  one  can't  be  found. 
The  junkshops  and  antique  bugs  have  rubbered 
all  Europe  for  it,  but  it  seems  to  be  out  of  stock. 
Scudder  paid  $2,000  for  the  one  he  has.' 

"'Oh, well, 'says  I, 'this  sounds  like  the  purling 
of  a  rill  to  me.  I  thought  we  came  here  to  teach 
the  millionaires  business,  instead  of  learning  art 
from  'em?' 

"'Be  patient,'  says  Andy,  kindly.  'Maybe 
we  will  see  a  rift  in  the  smoke  ere  long.' 

"All  the  next  morning  Andy  was  out.  I 
didn't  see  him  until  about  noon.  He  came  to 
the  hotel  and  called  me  into  his  room  across  the 
hall.  He  pulled  a  roundish  bundle  about  as  big 


ii4  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

as  a  goose  egg  out  of  his  pocket  and  unwrapped 
it.  It  was  an  ivory  carving  just  as  he  had 
described  the  millionaire's  to  me. 

"I  went  in  an  old  second-hand  store  and 
pawnshop  a  while  ago,'  says  Andy,  'and  I  see 
this  half  hidden  under  a  lot  of  old  daggers  and 
truck.  The  pawnbroker  said  he'd  had  it  several 
years  and  thinks  it  was  soaked  by  some  Arabs 
or  Turks  or  some  foreign  dubs  that  used  to  live 
down  by  the  river. 

"I  offered  him  $2  for  it,  and  I  must  have 
looked  like  I  wanted  it,  for  he  said  it  would  be 
taking  the  pumpernickel  out  of  his  children's 
mouths  to  hold  any  conversation  that  did  not 
lead  up  to  a  price  of  $35.  I  finally  got  it  for  $25. 

"'Jeff,'  goes  on  Andy,  'this  is  the  exact 
counterpart  of  Scudder's  carving.  It's  ab 
solutely  a  dead  ringer  for  it.  He'll  pay  $2,000 
for  it  as  quick  as  he'd  tuck  a  napkin  under  his 
chin.  And  why  shouldn't  it  be  the  genuine 
other  one,  anyhow,  that  the  old  gypsy  whittled 
out?' 

"'Why  not,  indeed?'  says  I.  'And  how  shall 
we  go  about  compelling  him  to  make  a  voluntary 
purchase  of  it?' 

"Andy  had  his  plan  all  ready,  and  I'll  tell  you 
how  we  carried  it  out. 

"I  got  a  pair  of  blue  spectacles,  put  on  my 
black  frock  coat,  rumpled  my  hair  up  and 
became  Prof.  Pickleman.  I  went  to  another 
hotel,  registered,  and  sent  a  telegram  to  Scudder 
to  come  to  see  me  at  once  on  important  art 
business.  The  elevator  dumped  him  on  me 
in  less  than  an  hour.  He  was  a  foggy  man 


CONSCIENCE  IN  ART  115 

with  a  clarion  voice,  smelling  of  Connecticut 
wrappers  and  naphtha. 

'"Hello,  Profess!'  he  shouts.  'How's  your 
conduct?' 

"I  rumpled  my  hair  some  more  and  gave  him 
a  blue  glass  stare. 

"'Sir,'  says  I.  'Are  you  Cornelius  T.  Scud- 
der?  Of  Pittsburg,  Pennsylvania?' 

"I  am,'  says  he.  'Come  out  and  have 
a  drink.' 

'"I  have  neither  the  time  nor  the  desire,' 
says  I,  'for  such  harmful  and  deleterious  amuse 
ments.  I  have  come  from  New  York,'  says  I, 
'on  a  matter  of  busi — on  a  matter  of  art. 

"'I  learned  there  that  you  are  the  owner  of  an 
Egyptian  ivory  carving  of  the  time  of  Rameses 
II.,  representing  the  head  of  Queen  Isis  in  a 
lotus  flower.  There  were  only  two  of  such 
carvings  made.  One  has  been  lost  for  many 
years.  I  recently  discovered  and  purchased 
the  other  in  a  pawn — in  an  obscure  museum  in 
Vienna.  I  wish  to  purchase  yours.  Name 
your  price.' 

"Well,  the  great  ice  jams,  Profess!'  says 
Scudder.  'Have  you  found  the  other  one? 
Me  sell?  No.  I  don't  guess  Cornelius  Scudder 
needs  to  sell  anything  that  he  wants  to  keep. 
Have  you  got  the  carving  with  you,  Profess?' 

"I  shows  it  to  Scudder.  He  examines  it 
careful  all  over. 

"It's  the  article,'  says  he.  'It's  a  duplicate 
of  mine,  every  line  and  curve  of  it.  Tell  you 
what  I'll  do,'  he  says.  'I  won't  sell,  but  I'll 
buy.  Give  you  $2,500  for  yours.' 


ii6  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

" 'Since  you  won't  sell,  I  will,'  says  I.  'Large 
bills,  please.  I'm  a  man  of  few  words.  I  must 
return  to  New  York  to-night.  I  lecture  to 
morrow  at  the  aquarium.' 

"Scudder  sends  a  check  down  and  the  hotel 
cashes  it.  He  goes  off  with  his  piece  of  antiquity 
and  I  hurry  back  to  Andy's  hotel,  according  to 
arrangement. 

"Andy  is  walking  up  and  down  the  room 
looking  at  his  watch. 

1  'Well?  'he  says. 

''Twenty-five     hundred,'     says     I.     'Cash.' 

"We've  got  just  eleven  minutes,'  says  Andy, 
'to  catch  the  B.  &  O.  westbound.  Grab  your 
baggage.' 

'  'What's  the  hurry  ? '  says  I.  '  It  was  a  square 
deal.  And  even  if  it  was  only  an  imitation  of 
the  original  carving  it'll  take  him  some  time  to 
find  it  out.  He  seemed  to  be  sure  it  was  the 
genuine  article.' 

"It  was,'  says  Andy.  'It  was  his  own. 
When  I  was  looking  at  his  curios  yesterday  he 
stepped  out  of  the  room  for  a  moment  and  I 
pocketed  it.  Now,  will  you  pick  up  your 
suit  case  and  hurry?' 

"Then/  says  I,  'why  was  that  story  about 
finding  another  one  in  the  pawn — 

"'Oh,'  says  Andy,  'out  of  respect  for  that 
conscience  of  yours.  Come  on.'" 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP 

ACROSS  our  two  dishes  of  spaghetti,  in  a 
corner  of  Provenzano's  restaurant,  Jeff  Peters 
was  explaining  to  me  the  three  kinds  of  graft. 

Every  winter  Jeff  comes  to  New  York  to  eat 
spaghetti,  to  watch  the  shipping  in  East  River 
from  the  depths  of  his  chinchilla  overcoat,  and 
to  lay  in  a  supply  of  Chicago-made  clothing 
at  one  of  the  Fulton  Street  stores.  During  the 
other  three  seasons  he  may  be  found  further 
west — his  range  is  from  Spokane  to  Tampa.  In 
his  profession  he  takes  a  pride  which  he  supports 
and  defends  with  a  serious  and  unique  philos 
ophy  of  ethics.  His  profession  is  no  new  one. 
He  is  an  incorporated,  uncapitalized,  unlimited 
asylum  for  the  reception  of  the  restless  and 
unwise  dollars  of  his  fellowmen. 

In  the  wilderness  of  stone  in  which  Jeff  seeks 
his  annual  lonely  holiday  he  is  glad  to  palaver 
of  his  many  adventures,  as  a  boy  will  whistle 
after  sundown  in  a  wood.  Wherefore,  I  mark 
on  my  calendar  the  time  of  his  coming,  and 
open  a  question  of  privilege  at  Provenzano's 
concerning  the  little  wine-stained  table  in  the 
corner  between  the  rakish  rubber  plant  and  the 
framed  palazzio  della  something  on  the  wall. 

"There  are  two  kinds  of  grafts,"  said  Jeff, 
"that  ought  to  be  wiped  out  by  law.  I  mean 
Wall  Street  speculation,  and  burglary." 

117 


ii8  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

"Nearly  everybody  will  agree  with  you  as  to 
one  of  them,"  said  I,  with  a  laugh. 

"Well,  burglary  ought  to  be  wiped  out,  too," 
said  Jeff;  and  I  wondered  whether  the  laugh  had 
been  redundant. 

"About  three  months  ago,"  said  Jeff,  "it  was 
my  privilege  to  become  familiar  with  a  sample 
of  each  of  the  aforesaid  branches  of  illegitimate 
art.  I  was  sine  qua  grata  with  a  member  of  the 
housebreakers'  union  and  one  of  the  John  D. 
Napoleons  of  finance  at  the  same  time." 

"Interesting  combination,"  said  I,  with  a 
yawn.  "Did  I  tell  you  I  bagged  a  duck  and 
a  ground  squirrel  at  one  shot  last  week  over  in 
the  Ramapos?"  I  knew  well  how  to  draw 
Jeff's  stories. 

"Let  me  tell  you  first  about  these  barnacles 
that  clog  the  wheels  of  society  by  poisoning  the 
springs  of  rectitude  with  their  upas-like  eye," 
said  Jeff,  with  the  pure  gleam  of  the  muck-raker 
m  his  own. 

"As  I  said,  three  months  ago  I  got  into  bad 
company.  There  are  two  times  in  a  man's  life 
when  he  does  this — when  he's  dead  broke,  and 
when  he's  rich. 

"Now  and  then  the  most  legitimate  business 
runs  out  of  luck.  It  was  out  in  Arkansas  I  made 
the  wrong  turn  at  a  cross-road,  and  drives  into 
this  town  of  Peavine  by  mistake.  It  seems  I 
had  already  assaulted  and  disfigured  Peavine 
the  spring  of  the  year  before.  I  had  sold  $600 
worth  of  young  fruit  trees  there — plums,  cher 
ries,  peaches  and  pears.  The  Peaviners  were 
keeping  an  eye  on  the  country  road  and  hoping 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  119 

I  might  pass  that  way  again.  I  drove  down 
Main  Street  as  far  as  the  Crystal  Palace  drug 
store  before  I  realized  I  had  committed  ambush 
upon  myself  and  my  white  horse  Bill. 

"The  Peaviners  took  me  by  surprise  and  Bill 
by  the  brjdle  and  began  a  conversation  that 
wasn't  entirely  disassociated  with  the  subject 
of  fruit  trees.  A  committee  of  'em  ran  some 
trace-chains  through  the  armholes  of  my  vest 
and  escorted  me  through  their  gardens  and 
orchards. 

" Their  fruit  trees  hadn't  lived  up  to  their 
labels.  Most  of  'em  had  turned  out  to  be 
persimmons  and  dogwoods,  with  a  grove  or  two 
of  blackjacks  and  poplars.  The  only  one  that 
showed  any  signs  of  bearing  anything  was  a  fine 
young  cottonwood  that  had  put  forth  a  hornet's 
nest  and  half  of  an  old  corset-cover. 

"The  Peaviners  protracted  our  fruitless  stroll 
to  the  edge  of  town.  They  took  my  watch  and 
money  on  account;  and  they  kept  Bill  and  the 
wagon  as  hostages.  They  said  the  first  time 
one  of  them  dogwrood  trees  put  forth  an 
Amsden's  June  peach  I  might  come  back  and 
get  my  things.  Then  they  took  off  the  trace- 
chains  and  jerked  their  thumbs  in  the  direction 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains;  and  I  struck  a  Lewis 
and  Clark  lope  for  the  swollen  rivers  and  im 
penetrable  forests. 

"When  I  regained  intellectualness  I  found 
myself  walking  into  an  unidentified  town  on  the 
A.,  T.  &  S.  F.  railroad.  The  Peaviners  hadn't 
left  anything  in  my  pockets  except  a  plug  of 
chewing — they  wasn't  after  my  life — and  that 


lao  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER  , 

saved  it.  I  bit  off  a  chunk  and  sits  down  on  a 
pile  of  ties  by  the  track  to  recogitate  my  sen 
sations  of  thought  and  perspicacity. 

"And  then  along  comes  a  fast  freight  which 
slows  up  a  little  at  the  town;  and  off  of  it  drops 
a  black  bundle  that  rolls  for  twenty  yards  in  a 
cloud  of  dust  and  then  gets  up  and  begins  to 
spit  soft  coal  and  interjections.  I  see  it  is  a 
young  man  broad  across  the  face,  dressed  more 
for  Pullmans  than  freights,  and  with  a  cheerful 
kind  of  smile  in  spite  of  it  all  that  made  Phoebe 
Snow's  job  look  like  a  chimney-sweep's. 

"Tall  off? 'says  I. 

"Nunk,'  says  he.  'Got  off.  Arrived  at  my 
destination.  What  town  is  this?' 

"'Haven't  looked  it  up  on  the  map  yet,'  says 
I.  'I  got  in  about  five  minutes  before  you  did. 
How  does  it  strike  you?' 

"'Hard,'  says  he,  twisting  one  of  his  arms 
around.  'I  believe  that  shoulder — no,  it's  all 
right.' 

"He  stoops  over  to  brush  the  dust  off  his 
clothes,  when  out  of  his  pocket  drops  a  fine, 
nine-inch  burglar's  steel  jimmy.  He  picks  it 
up  and  looks  at  me  sharp,  and  then  grins  and 
holds  out  his  hand. 

"'Brother,'  says  he,  'greetings.  Didn't  I  see 
you  in  Southern  Missouri  last  summer  selling 
colored  sand  at  half-a-dollar  a  teaspoonful  to 
put  into  lamps  to  keep  the  oil  from  exploding?' 

"'Oil,'  says  I,  never  explodes.  'It's  the  gas 
that  forms  that  explodes.'  But  I  shakes  hands 
with  him,  anyway. 

"'My  name's   Bill   Bassett,'  says  he  to  me, 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  121 

'and  if  you'll  call  it  professional  pride  instead 
of  conceit,  I'll  inform  you  that  you  have  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  the  best  burglar  that  ever 
set  a  gum-shoe  on  ground  drained  by  the 
Mississippi  River.' 

"Well,  me  and  this  Bill  Bassett  sits  on  the  ties 
and  exchanges  brags  as  artists  in  kindred  lines 
will  do.  It  seems  he  didn't  have  a  cent,  either, 
and  we  went  into  close  caucus.  He  explained 
why  an  able  burglar  sometimes  had  to  travel 
on  freights  by  telling  me  that  a  servant  girl 
had  played  him  false  in  Little  Rock,  and  he  was 
making  a  quick  get-away. 

"It's  part  of  my  business,'  says  Bill  Bassett, 
'to  play  up  to  the  ruffles  when  I  want  to  make  a 
riffle  as  Raffles.  'Tis  loves  that  makes  the  bit 
go  'round.  Show  me  a  house  with  the  swag 
in  it  and  a  pretty  parlor-maid,  and  you  might 
as  well  call  the  silver  melted  down  and  sold, 
and  me  spilling  truffles  and  that  Chateau  stuff 
on  the  napkin  under  my  chin,  while  the  police 
are  calling  it  an  inside  job  just  because  the  old 
lady's  nephew  teaches  a  Bible  class.  I  first 
make  an  impression  on  the  girl,'  says  Bill,  'and 
when  she  lets  me  inside  I  make  an  impression 
on  the  locks.  But  this  one  in  Little  Rock  done 
me,'  says  he.  'She  saw  me  taking  a  trolley 
ride  with  another  girl,  and  when  I  came  'round 
on  the  night  she  was  to  leave  the  door  open  for 
me  it  was  fast.  And  I  had  keys  made  for  the 
doors  upstairs.  But,  no  sir.  She  had  sure  cut 
off  my  locks.  She  was  a  Delilah,'  says  Bill 
Bassett. 

"It  seems  that  Bill  tried  to  break  in  anyhow 


122  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

with  his  jimmy,  but  the  girl  emitted  a  succession 
of  bravura  noises  like  the  top-riders  of  a  tally-ho, 
and  Bill  had  to  take  all  the  hurdles  between 
there  and  the  depot.  As  he  had  no  baggage 
they  tried  hard  to  check  his  departure,  but  he 
made  a  tram  that  was  just  pulling  out. 

"'Well,'  says  Bill  Bassett,  when  we  had 
exchanged  memoirs  of  our  dead  lives,  'I  could 
eat.  This  town  don't  look  like  it  was  kept 
under  a  Yale  lock.  Suppose  we  commit  some 
mild  atrocity  that  will  bring  in  temporary 
expense  money.  I  don't  suppose  you've  brought 
along  any  hair  tonic  or  rolled  gold  watch-chains, 
or  similar  law-defying  swindles  that  you  could 
sell  on  the  plaza  to  the  pikers  of  the  paretic 
populace,  have  you?' 

"'No,'  says  I,  'I  left  an  elegant  line  of  Pata- 
gonian  diamond  earrings  and  rainy-day  sun 
bursts  in  my  valise  at  Peavine.  But  they're  to 
stay  there  till  some  of  them  black-gum  trees 
begin  to  glut  the  market  with  yellow  clings  and 
Japanese  plums.  I  reckon  we  can't  count  on 
them  unless  we  take  Luther  Burbank  in  for  a 
partner.' 

"'Very  well,'  says  Bassett,  'we'll  do  the  best 
we  can.  Maybe  after  dark  I'll  borrow  a  hairpin 
from  some  lady,  and  open  the  Farmers  and 
Drovers  Marine  Bank  with  it.' 

"While  we  were  talking,  up  pulls  a  passenger 
train  to  the  depot  near  by.  A  person  in  a  high 
hat  gets  off  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  train  and 
comes  tripping  down  the  track  towards  us.  He 
was  a  little,  fat  man  with  a  big  nose  and  rat's 
eyes,  but  dressed  expensive,  and  carrying  a 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  123 

hand-satchel  careful,  as  if  it  had  eggs  or  railroad 
bonds  in  it.  He  passes  by  us  and  keeps  on  down 
the  track,  not  appearing  to  notice  the  town. 

"'Come  on,'  says  Bill  Bassett  to  me,  starting 
after  him. 

"'Where?' I  asks/ 

"'Lordy!'  says  Bill,  'had  you  forgot  you  was 
in  the  desert?  Didn't  you  see  Colonel  Manna 
drop  down  right  before  your  eyes?  Don't  you 
hear  the  rustling  of  General  Raven's  wings? 
I'm  surprised  at  you,  Elijah.' 

"We  overtook  the  stranger  in  the  edge  of 
some  woods,  and,  as  it  was  after  sun-down  and 
in  a  quiet  place,  nobody  saw  us  stop  him.  Bill 
takes  the  silk  hat  off  the  man's  head  and  brushes 
it  with  his  sleeve  and  puts  it  back. 

"What  does  this  mean,  sir?'  says  the  man. 

"'When  I  wore  one  of  these,'  says  Bill,  'and 
felt  embarrassed,  I  always  done  that.  Not 
having  one  now  I  had  to  use  yours.  I  hardly 
know  how  to  begin,  sir,  in  explaining  our 
business  with  you,  but  I  guess  we'll  try  your 
pockets  first.' 

"Bill  Bassett  felt  in  all  of  them,  and  looked 
disgusted. 

"Not  even  a  watch,'  he  says.  'Ain't  you 
ashamed  of  yourself,  you  whited  sculpture? 
Going  about  dressed  like  a  head-waiter,  and 
financed  like  a  Count.  You  haven't  even  got 
carfare.  What  did  you  do  with  your  transfer?' 

"The  man  speaks  up  and  says  he  has  no  assets 
or  valuables  of  any  sort.  But  Bassett  takes  his 
hand-satchel  and  opens  it.  Out  comes  some 
collars  and  socks  and  a  half  a  page  of  a  news- 


124  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

paper  clipped  out.  Bill  reads  the  clipping 
careful,  and  holds  out  his  hand  to  the  held-up 
party. 

"Brother,'  says  he,  *  greetings!  Accept  the 
apologies  of  friends.  I  am  Bill  Bassett,  the 
burglar.  Mr.  Peters,  you  must  make  the 
acquaintance  of  Mr.  Alfred  E.  Ricks.  Shake 
hands.  Mr.  Peters,'  says  Bill,  'stands  about 
halfway  between  me  and  you,  Mr.  Ricks,  in  the 
line  of  havoc  and  corruption.  He  always  gives 
something  for  the  money  he  gets.  I'm  glad 
to  meet  you,  Mr.  Ricks — you  and  Mr.  Peters. 
This  is  the  first  time  I  ever  attended  a  full 
gathering  of  the  National  Synod  of  Sharks — 
housebreaking,  swindling,  and  financiering  all 
represented.  Please  examine  Mr.  Rick's  cre 
dentials,  Mr.  Peters/ 

"The  piece  of  newspaper  that  Bill  Bassett 
handed  me  had  a  good  picture  of  this  Ricks  on 
it.  It  was  a  Chicago  paper,  and  it  had  obloquies 
of  Ricks  in  every  paragraph.  By  reading  it 
over  I  harvested  the  intelligence  that  said 
alleged  Ricks  had  laid  off  all  that  portion  of  the 
State  of  Florida  that  lies  under  water  into  town 
lots  and  sold  'em  to  alleged  innocent  investors 
from  his  magnificently  furnished  offices  in 
Chicago.  After  he  had  taken  in  a  hundred 
thousand  or  so  dollars  one  of  these  fussy  pur 
chasers  that  are  always  making  trouble  (I've 
had  'em  actually  try  gold  watches  I've  sold  'em 
with  acid)  took  a  cheap  excursion  down  to  the 
land  where  it  is  always  just  before  supper  to 
look  at  his  lot  and  see  if  it  didn't  need  a  new 
paling  or  two  on  the  fence,  and  market  a  few 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  125 

lemons  in  time  for  the  Christmas  present  trade. 
He  hires  a  surveyor  to  find  his  lot  for  him.  They 
run  the  line  out  and  find  the  flourishing  town 
of  Paradise  Hollow,  so  advertised,  to  be  about 
40  rods  and  16  poles  S.,  27°  E.  of  the  middle 
of  Lake  Okeechobee.  This  man's  lot  was  under 
thirty-six  feet  of  water,  and,  besides,  had  been 
preempted  so  long  by  the  alligators  and  gars 
that  his  title  looked  fishy. 

"Naturally,  the  man  goes  back  to  Chicago 
and  makes  it  as  hot  for  Alfred  E.  Ricks  as  the 
morning  after  a  prediction  of  snow  by  the 
weather  bureau.  Ricks  defied  the  allegation, 
but  he  couldn't  deny  the  alligators.  One 
morning  the  papers  came  out  with  a  column 
about  it,  and  Ricks  come  out  by  the  fire-escape. 
It  seems  the  alleged  authorities  had  beat  him 
to  the  safe-deposit  box  where  he  kept  his  win 
nings,  and  Ricks  has  to  westward  ho!  with  only 
featwear  and  a  dozen  15!  English  pokes  in  his 
shopping  bag.  He  happened  to  have  some 
mileage  left  in  his  book,  and  that  took  him  as 
far  as  the  town  in  the  wilderness  where  he  was 
spilled  out  on  me  and  Bill  Bassett  as  Elijah  III 
with  not  a  raven  in  sight  for  any  of  us. 

"Then  this  Alfred  E.  Ricks  lets  out  a  squeak 
that  he  is  hungry,  too,  and  denies  the  hypothesis 
that  he  is  good  for  the  value,  let  alone  the  price, 
of  a  meal.  And  so,  there  was  the  three  of  us, 
representing,  if  we  had  a  mind  to  draw  syl 
logisms  and  parabolas,  labor  and  trade  and 
capital.  Now,  when  trade  has  no  capital  there 
isn't  a  dicker  to  be  made.  And  when  capital 
has  no  money  there's  a  stagnation  in  steak  and 


126  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

onions.  That  put  it  up  to  the  man  with  the 
jimmy. 

"Brother  bushrangers,'  says  Bill  Bassett, 
'never  yet,  in  trouble,  did  I  desert  a  pal.  Hard 
by,  in  yon  wood,  I  seem  to  see  unfurnished 
lodgings.  Let  us  go  there  and  wait  till  dark.' 

"There  was  an  old,  deserted  cabin  in  the 
grove,  and  we  three  took  possession  of  it.  After 
dark  Bill  Bassett  tells  us  to  wait,  and  goes  out 
for  half  an  hour.  He  comes  back  with  a  arm 
ful  of  bread  and  spareribs  and  pies. 

"Panhandled  'em  at  a  farmhouse  on  Washita 
Avenue,'  says  he.  'Eat,  drink,  and  be  leary.' 

"The  full  moon  was  coming  up  bright,  so  we 
sat  on  the  floor  of  the  cabin  and  ate  in  the  light 
of  it.  And  this  Bill  Bassett  begins  to  brag. 

:"Sometimes,'  says  he,  with  his  mouth  full  of 
country  produce,  'I  lose  all  patience  with  you 
people  that  think  you  are  higher  up  in  the 
profession  than  I  am.  Now,  what  could  either 
of  you  have  done  in  the  present  emergency  to 
set  us  on  our  feet  again?  Could  you  do  it, 
Ricksy?' 

"I  must  confess,  Mr.  Bassett,'  says  Ricks, 
speaking  nearly  inaudible  out  of  a  slice  of  pie, 
'that  at  this  immediate  juncture  I  could  not, 
perhaps,  promote  an  enterprise  to  relieve  the 
situation.  Large  operations,  such  as  I  direct, 

naturally  require  careful  preparation  in  advance. 
JL 

:"I  know,  Ricksy,'  breaks  in  Bill  Bassett. 
'You  needn't  finish.  You  need  $500  to  make 
the  first  payment  on  a  blond  typewriter,  and 
four  roomsful  of  quartered  oak  furniture.  And 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  127 

you  need  $500  more  for  advertising  contracts. 
And  you  need  two  weeks'  time  for  the  fish  to 
begin  to  bite.  Your  line  of  relief  would  be 
about  as  useful  in  an  emergency  as  advocating 
municipal  ownership  to  cure  a  man  suffocated 
by  eighty-cent  gas.  And  your  graft  ain't  much 
swifter,  Brother  Peters,'  he  winds  up. 

"'Oh,'  says  I,  'I  haven't  seen  you  turn  any 
thing  into  gold  with  your  wand  yet,  Mr.  Good 
Fairy.  'Most  anybody  could  rub  the  magic 
ring  for  a  little  left-over  victuals.' 

"That  was  only  getting  the  pumpkin  ready/ 
s-ays  Bassett,  braggy  and  cheerful.  'The  coach 
and  six'll  drive  up  to  the  door  before  you  know  it, 
Miss  Cinderella.  Maybe  you've  got  some 
scheme  under  your  sleeve-holders  that  will  give 
us  a  start.' 

"'Son,'  says  I,  'I'm  fifteen  years  older  than 
you  are,  and  young  enough  yet  to  take  out  an 
endowment  policy.  I've  been  broke  before. 
We  can  see  the  lights  of  that  town  not  half  a 
mile  away.  I  learned  under  Montague  Silver, 
the  greatest  street  man  that  ever  spoke  from  a 
wagon.  There  are  hundreds  of  men  walking 
those  streets  this  moment  with  grease  spots 
on  their  clothes.  Give  me  a  gasoline  lamp,  a 
dry-goods  box,  and  a  two-dollar  bar  of  white 
castile  soap,  cut  into  little — 

"Where's  your  two  dollars?'  snickered  Bill 
Bassett  into  my  discourse.  There  was  no  use 
arguing  with  that  burglar. 

"No,'  he  goes  on;  'you're  both  babes-in-the- 
wood.  Finance  has  closed  the  mahogany  desk, 
and  trade  has  put  the  shutters  up.  Both  of  you 


128  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

look  to  labor  to  start  the  wheels  going.  All 
right.  You  admit  it.  To-night  I'll  show  you 
what  Bill  Bassett  can  do.' 

"  Bassett  tells  me  and  Ricks  not  to  leave  the 
cabin  till  he  comes  back,  even  if  it's  daylight,  and 
then  he  starts  off  toward  town,  whistling  gay. 

"This  Alfred  E.  Ricks  pulls  off  his  shoes  and 
his  coat,  lays  a  silk  handkerchief  over  his  hat, 
and  lays  down  on  the  floor. 

"I  think  I  will  endeavor  to  secure  a  little 
slumber,'  he  squeaks.  'The  day  has  been  fa 
tiguing.  Good-night,  my  dear  Mr.  Peters.' 

"My  regards  to  Morpheus,'  says  I.  'I 
think  I'll  sit  up  a  while/ 

"About  two  o'clock,  as  near  as  I  could  guess 
by  my  watch  in  Peavine,  home  comes  our 
laboring  man  and  kicks  up  Ricks,  and  calls 
us  to  the  streak  of  bright  moonlight  shining  in  the 
cabin  door.  Then  he  spreads  out  five  packages 
of  one  thousand  dollars  each  on  the  floor,  and 
begins  to  cackle  over  the  nest-egg  like  a  hen. 

"'I'll  tell  you  a  few  things  about  that  town,' 
says  he.  'It's  named  Rocky  Springs,  and 
they're  building  a  Masonic  temple,  and  it  looks 
like  the  Democratic  candidate  for  mayor  is 
going  to  get  soaked  by  a  Pop,  and  Judge 
Tucker's  wife,  who  has  been  down  with  pleurisy, 
is  some  better.  I  had  a  talk  on  these  liliputian 
thesises  before  I  could  get  a  siphon  in  the 
fountain  of  knowledge  that  I  was  after.  And 
there's  a  bank  there  called  the  Lumberman's 
Fidelity  and  Plowman's  Savings  Institution. 
It  closed  for  business  yesterday  with  $23,000 
cash  on  hand.  It  will  open  this  morning  with 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  129 

$18,000 — all  silver — that's  the  reason  I  didn't 
bring  more.  There  you  are,  trade  and  capital. 
Now,  will  you  be  bad  ? ' 

"My  young  friend,'  says  Alfred  E.  Ricks, 
holding  up  his  hands,  'have  you  robbed  this 
bank?  Dear  me,  dear  me!' 

'"You  couldn't  call  it  that,'  says  Bassett. 
'"Robbing"  sounds  harsh.  All  I  had  to  do  was 
to  find  out  what  street  it  was  on.  That  town 
is  so  quiet  that  I  could  stand  on  the  corner  and 
hear  the  tumblers  clicking  in  that  safe  lock — 
"right  to  45;  left  twice  to  80;  right  once  to  60; 
left  to  15" — as  plain  as  the  Yale  captain  giving 
orders  in  the  football  dialect.  Now,  boys,' 
says  Bassett,  'this  is  an  early  rising  town.  They 
tell  me  the  citizens  are  all  up  and  stirring  before 
daylight.  I  asked  what  for,  and  they  said  be 
cause  breakfast  was  ready  at  that  time.  And 
what  of  merry  Robin  Hood  ?  It  must  be 
Yoicks!  and  away  with  the  tinkers'  chorus.  I'll 
stake  you.  How  much  do  you  want?  Speak 
up.  Capital.' 

"My  dear  young  friend,'  says  this  ground 
squirrel  of  a  Ricks,  standing  on  his  hind  legs 
and  juggling  nuts  in  his  paws,  'I  have  friends  in 
Denver  who  would  assist  me.  If  I  had  a  hun 
dred  dollars  I— 

"  Bassett  unpins  a  package  of  the  currency 
and  throws  five  twenties  to  Ricks. 

"Trade,  how  much?'  he  says  to  me. 

"Put  your  money  up,  Labor,'  says  I.  'I 
never  yet  drew  upon  honest  toil  for  its  hard- 
earned  pittance.  The  dollars  I  get  are  surplus 
ones  that  are  burningthe pockets  ofdamfools  and 


i3o  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

greenhorns.  When  I  stand  on  a  street  corner 
and  sell  a  solid  gold  diamond  ring  to  a  yap  for 
$3.00,  I  make  just  $2.60.  And  I  know  he's  go 
ing  to  give  it  to  a  girl  in  return  for  all  the  benefits 
accruing  from  a  $125.00  ring.  His  profits  are 
$122.00.  Which  of  us  is  the  biggest  fakir?' 

'"And  when  you  sell  a  poor  woman  a  pinch  of 
sand  for  fifty  cents  to  keep  her  lamp  from 
exploding,'  says  Bassett,  'what  do  you  figure 
her  gross  earnings  to  be,  with  sand  at  forty 
cents  a  ton  ? ' 

"Listen,'  says  I.  'I  instruct  her  to  keep  her 
lamp  clean  and  well  filled.  If  she  does  that  it 
can't  burst.  And  with  the  sand  in  it  she  knows 
it  can't  and  she  don't  worry.  It's  a  kind  of 
Industrial  Christian  Science.  She  pays  fifty 
cents,  and  gets  both  Rockefeller  and  Mrs.  Eddy 
on  the  job.  It  ain't  everybody  that  can  let 
the  gold-dust  twins  do  their  work.' 

"Alfred  E.  Ricks  all  but  licks  the  dust  off 
of  Bill  Bassett's  shoes. 

"My  dear  young  friend,'  says  he,  'I  will 
never  forget  your  generosity.  Heaven  will  re 
ward  you.  But  let  me  implore  you  to  turn  from 
your  ways  of  violence  and  crime.' 

"Mousie,'  says  Bill,  'the  hole  in  the  wainscot 
ing  for  yours.  Your  dogmas  and  inculcations 
sound  to  me  like  the  last  words  of  a  bicycle 
pump.  What  has  your  high  moral,  elevator- 
service  system  of  pillage  brought  you  to? 
Penuriousness  and  want.  Even  Brother  Peters, 
who  insists  upon  contaminating  the  art  of 
robbery  with  theories  of  commerce  and  trade, 
admitted  he  was  on  the  lift.  Both  of  you  live 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  131 

by  the  gilded  rule.  Brother  Peters,'  says  Bill, 
'you'd  better  choose  a  slice  of  this  embalmed 
currency.  You're  welcome.' 

"I  told  Bill  Bassett  once  more  to  put  his 
money  in  his  pocket.  I  never  had  the  respect 
for  burglary  that  some  people  have.  I  always 
gave  something  for  the  money  I  took,  even  if 
it  was  only  some  little  trifle  for  a  souvenir  to 
remind  'em  not  to  get  caught  again. 

"And  then  Alfred  E.  Ricks  grovels  at  Bill's 
feet  again,  and  bids  us  adieu.  He  says  he  will 
have  a  team  at  a  farmhouse,  and  drive  to  the 
station  below,  and  take  the  train  for  Denver. 
It  salubrified  the  atmosphere  when  that  lament 
able  boll-worm  took  his  departure.  He  was  a 
disgrace  to  every  non-industrial  profession  in 
the  country.  With  all  his  big  schemes  and  fine 
offices  he  had  wound  up  unable  even  to  get  an 
honest  meal  except  by  the  kindness  of  a  strange 
and  maybe  unscrupulous  burglar.  I  was  glad 
to  see  him  go,  though  I  felt  a  little  sorry  for  him, 
now  that  he  was  ruined  forever.  What  could 
such  a  man  do  without  a  big  capital  to  work 
with?  Why,  Alfred  E.  Ricks,  as  we  left  him, 
was  as  helpless  as  a  turtle  on  its  back.  He 
couldn't  have  worked  a  scheme  to  beat  a  little 
girl  out  of  a  penny  slate-pencil. 

"When  me  and  Bill  Bassett  was  left  alone 
I  did  a  little  sleight-of-mind  turn  in  my  head 
with  a  trade  secret  at  the  end  of  it.  Thinks  I, 
I'll  show  this  Mr.  Burglar  Man  the  difference 
between  business  and  labor.  He  had  hurt 
some  of  my  professional  self-adulation  by 
casting  his  Persians  upon  commerce  and  trade. 


132  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

'  'I  won't  take  any  of  your  money  as  a  gift, 
Mr.  Bassett,'  says  I  to  him,  'but  if  you'll  pay  my 
expenses  as  a  travelling  companion  until  we  get 
out  of  the  danger  zone  of  the  immoral  deficit 
vou  have  caused  in  this  town's  finances  to-night, 
I'll  be  obliged.' 

"Bill  Bassett  agreed  to  that,  and  we  hiked 
westward  as  soon  as  we  could  catch  a  safe  train. 

"When  we  got  to  a  town  in  Arizona  called 
Lcs  Perros  I  suggested  that  we  once  more  try 
cur  luck  on  terra-cotta.  That  was  the  home 
of  Montague  Silver,  my  old  instructor,  now 
retired  from  business.  I  knew  Monty  would 
stake  me  to  web  money  if  I  could  show  him 
a  fly  buzzing  'round  in  the  locality.  Bill 
Bassett  said  all  towns  looked  alike  to  him  as  he 
worked  mainly  in  the  dark.  So  we  got  off  the 
train  in  Los  Perros,  a  fine  little  town  in  the 
silver  region. 

"I  had  an  elegant  little  sure  thing  in  the  way 
of  a  commercial  slungshot  that  I  intended  to 
hit  Bassett  behind  the  ear  with.  I  wasn't  going 
to  take  his  money  while  he  was  asleep,  but  I  was 
going  to  leave  him  with  a  lottery  ticket  that 
would  represent  in  experience  to  him  $4,755 — I 
think  that  was  the  amount  he  had  when  we  got 
off  the  train.  But  the  first  time  I  hinted  to  him 
about  an  investment,  he  turns  on  me  and  disen 
cumbers  himself  of  the  following  terms  and  ex 
pressions. 

"'Brother  Peters,'  says  he,  'it  ain't  a  bad  idea 
to  go  into  an  enterprise  of  some  kind,  as  you 
suggest.  I  think  I  will.  But  if  I  do  it  will  be 
such  a  cold  proposition  that  nobody  but  Robert 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  133 

E.  Peary  and  Charlie  Fairbanks  will  be  able  to 
sit  on  the  board  of  directors.' 

"'I  thought  you  might  want  to  turn  your 
money  over,'  says  I. 

'"I  do,'  says  he,  'frequently.  I  can't  sleep 
on  one  side  all  night.  I'll  tell  you,  Brother 
Peters,'  says  he,  'I'm  going  to  start  a  poker 
room.  I  don't  seem  to  care  for  the  humdrum 
in  swindling,  such  as  peddling  egg-beaters  and 
working  off  breakfast  food  on  Barnum  and 
Bailey  for  sawdust  to  strew  in  their  circus 
rings.  But  the  gambling  business,'  says  he,  'from 
the  profitable  side  of  the  table  is  a  good  compro 
mise  between  swiping  silver  spoons  and  selling 
penwipers  at  a  Waldorf-Astoria  chanty  bazar.' 

"'Then,'  says  I,  'Mr.  Bassett,  you  don't  care 
to  talk  over  my  little  business  proposition?' 

"Why,'  says  he,  'do  you  know,  you  can't  get 
a  Pasteur  institute  to  start  up  within  fifty  miles 
of  where  I  live.  I  bite  so  seldom.' 

"So,  Bassett  rents  a  room  over  a  saloon  and 
looks  around  for  some  furniture  and  chromos. 
The  same  night  I  went  to  Monty  Silver's  house, 
and  he  let  me  have  $200  on  my  prospects. 
Then  I  went  to  the  only  store  in  Los  Perros  that 
sold  playing  cards  and  bought  every  deck  in 
the  house.  The  next  morning  when  the  store 
opened  I  was  there  bringing  all  the  cards  back 
with  me.  I  said  that  my  partner  that  was  going 
to  back  me  in  the  game  had  changed  his  mind; 
and  I  wanted  to  sell  the  cards  back  again.  The 
storekeeper  took  'em  at  half  price. 

"Yes,  I  was  seventy-five  dollars  loser  up  to 
that  time.  But  while  I  had  the  cards  that  night 


134  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

I  marked  every  one  in  every  deck.  That  was 
labor.  And  then  trade  and  commerce  had  their 
innings,  and  the  bread  I  had  cast  upon  the 
waters  began  to  come  back  in  the  form  of 
cottage  pudding  with  wine  sauce. 

"Of  course  I  was  among  the  first  to  buy  chips 
at  Bill  Bassett's  game.  He  had  bought  the 
only  cards  there  was  to  be  had  in  town;  and 
I  knew  the  back  of  every  one  of  them  better 
than  I  know  the  back  of  my  head  when  the 
barber  shows  me  my  haircut  in  the  two  mirrors. 

"When  the  game  closed  I  had  the  five  thou 
sand  and  a  few  odd  dollars,  and  all  Bill  Bassett 
had  was  the  wanderlust  and  a  black  cat  he  had 
bought  for  a  mascot.  Bill  shook  hands  with 
me  when  I  left. 

"Brother  Peters,'  says  he,  'I  have  no  business 
being  in  business.  I  was  preordained  to  labor. 
When  a  No.  i  burglar  tries  to  make  a  James  out 
of  his  jimmy  he  perpetrates  an  improfundity. 
You  have  a  well-oiled  and  efficacious  system  of 
luck  at  cards,'  says  he.  'Peace  go  with  you.' 
And  I  never  afterward  sees  Bill  Bassett  again." 

"'Well,  Jeff,"  said  I,  when  the  Autolycan 
adventurer  seemed  to  have  divulged  the  gist 
of  his  tale,  "I  hope  you  took  care  of  the  money. 
That  would  be  a  respecta — that  is  a  considerable 
working  capital  if  you  should  choose  some  day  to 
settle  down  to  some  sort  of  regular  business." 

"Me?"  said  Jeff,  virtuously.  "You  can  bet 
I've  taken  care  of  that  five  thousand." 

He  tapped  his  coat  over  the  region  of  his  chest 
exultantly. 


THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP  135 

"Gold  mining  stock,"  he  explained,  "every 
cent  of  it.  Shares  par  value  one  dollar.  Bound 
to  go  up  500  per  cent,  within  a  year.  Non 
assessable.  The  Blue  Gopher  Mine.  Just  dis 
covered  a  month  ago.  Better  get  in  yourself 
if  you've  any  spare  dollars  on  hand." 

"  Sometimes,"  said  I, "  these  mines  are  not 

"Oh,  this  one's  solid  as  an  old  goose,"  said 
Jeff.  "Fifty  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  ore  in 
sight,  and  10  per  cent,  monthly  earnings  guar 
anteed." 

He  drew  a  long  envelope  from  his  pocket  and 
cast  it  on  the  table. 

"Always  carry  it  with  me,"  said  he.  "So 
the  burglar  can't  corrupt  or  the  capitalist  break 
in  and  water  it." 

I  looked  at  the  beautifully  engraved  cer 
tificate  of  stock. 

"In  Colorado,  I  see,"  said  I.  "And,  by  the 
way,  Jeff,  what  was  the  name  of  the  little  man 
who  went  to  Denver — the  one  you  and  Bill 
met  at  the  station?" 

"Alfred  E  Ricks,"  said  Jeff,  "was  the  toad's 
designation." 

"I  see,"  said  I,  "the  president  of  this  mining 
company  signs  himself  A.  L.  Fredericks.  I  was 
wondering — 

"Let  me  see  that  stock,"  said  Jeff  quickly, 
almost  snatching  it  from  me. 

To  mitigate,  even  though  slightly,  the  em 
barrassment  I  summoned  the  waiter  and  ordered 
another  bottle  of  the  Barbera.  I  thought  it  was 
the  least  I  could  do. 


A  TEMPERED  WIND 

THE  first  time  my  optical  nerves  was  dis 
turbed  by  the  sight  of  Buckingham  Skinner 
was  in  Kansas  City.  I  was  standing  on  a 
corner  when  I  see  Buck  stick  his  straw-colored 
head  out  of  a  third-story  window  of  a  business 
block  and  holler,  "Whoa,  there!  Whoa!"  like 
you.  would  in  endeavoring  to  assuage  a  team 
of  runaway  mules. 

I  looked  around;  but  all  the  animals  I  see  in 
sight  is  a  policeman,  having  his  shoes  shined, 
and  a  couple  of  delivery  wagons  hitched  to 
posts.  Then  in  a  minute  downstairs  tumbles 
this  Buckingham  Skinner,  and  runs  to  the 
corner,  and  stands  and  gazes  down  the  other 
street  at  the  imaginary  dust  kicked  up  by  the 
fabulous  hoofs  of  the  fictitious  team  of  chi 
merical  quadrupeds.  And  then  B.  Skinner 
goes  back  up  to  the  third-story  room  again, 
and  I  see  that  the  lettering  on  the  window  is 
"The  Farmers'  Friend  Loan  Company." 

By  and  by  Straw-top  comes  down  again,  and 
I  crossed  the  street  to  meet  him,  for  I  had  my 
ideas.  Yes,  sir,  when  I  got  close  I  could  see 
where  he  overdone  it.  He  was  Reub  all  right 
as  far  as  his  blue  jeans  and  cowhide  boots  went, 
but  he  had  a  matinee  actor's  hands,  and  the 
rye  straw  stuck  over  his  ear  looked  like  it  be- 

136 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  137 

longed  to  the  property  man  of  the  Old  Home 
stead  Co.  Curiosity  to  know  what  his  graft  was 
got  the  best  of  me. 

"Was  that  your  team  broke  away  and  run 
just  now?"  I  asks  him,  polite.  "I  tried  to  stop 
'em,"  says  I,  "but  I  couldn't.  I  guess  they're 
halfway  back  to  the  farm  by  now." 

"Gosh  blame  them  darned  mules,"  says 
Straw-top,  in  a  voice  so  good  that  I  nearly 
apologized;  "they're  a'lus  bustin'  loose."  And 
then  he  looks  at  me  close,  and  then  he  takes  off 
his  hayseed  hat,  and  says,  in  a  different  voice: 

"I'd  like  to  shake  hands  with  Parley-voo 
Pickens,  the  greatest  street  man  in  the  West, 
barring  only  Montague  Silver,  which  you  can 
no  more  than  allow." 

I  let  him  shake  hands  with  me. 

"I  learned  under  Silver,"  I  said;  "I  don't 
begrudge  him  the  lead.  But  what's  your  graft, 
son?  I  admit  that  the  phantom  flight  of  the 
non-existing  animals  at  which  you  remarked 
'Whoa!'  has  puzzled  me  somewhat.  How  do 
you  win  out  on  the  trick?" 

Buckingham  Skinner  blushed. 

"Pocket  money,"  says  he;  "that's  all.  I  am 
temporarily  unfinanced.  This  little  coup  de 
rye  straw  is  good  for  forty  dollars  in  a  town  of 
this  size.  How  do  I  work  it?  Why,  I  involve 
myself,  as  you  perceive,  in  the  loathsome 
apparel  of  the  rural  dub.  Thus  embalmed  I 
am  Jonas  Stubblefield — a  name  impossible  to 
improve  upon.  I  repair  noisily  to  the  office  of 
some  loan  company  conveniently  located  in 
the  third-floor,  front.  There  I  lay  my  hat  and 


i38  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

yarn  gloves  on  the  floor  and  ask  to  mortgage 
my  farm  for  $2,000  to  pay  for  my  sister's  musical 
education  in  Europe.  Loans  like  that  always 
suit  the  loan  companies.  It's  ten  to  one  that 
when  the  note  falls  due  the  foreclosure  will  be 
leading  the  semiquavers  by  a  couple  of  lengths. 

"Well,  sir,  I  reach  in  my  pocket  for  the  ab 
stract  of  title;  but  I  suddenly  hear  my  team 
running  away.  I  run  to  the  window  and  emit 
the  word — or  exclamation,  whichever  it  may 
be — viz,  'Whoa!'  Then  I  rush  downstairs  and 
down  the  street,  returning  in  a  few  minutes. 
'Dang  them  mules,'  I  says;  'they  done  run 
away  and  busted  the  double  tree  and  two  traces. 
Now  I  got  to  hoof  it  home,  for  I  never  brought 
no  money  along.  Reckon  we'll  talk  about  that 
loan  some  other  time,  gen'lemen.' 

"Then  I  spreads  out  my  tarpaulin,  like  the 
Israelites,  and  waits  for  the  manna  to  drop. 

'"Why,  no,  Mr.  Stubblefield,'  says  the  lob 
ster-colored  party  in  the  specs  and  dotted 
pique  vest;  'oblige  us  by  accepting  this  ten- 
dollar  bill  until  to-morrow.  Get  your  harness 
repaired  and  call  in  at  ten.  We'll  be  pleased  to 
accommodate  you  in  the  matter  of  this  loan.' 

"It's  a  slight  thing,"  says  Buckingham 
Skinner,  modest,  "but,  as  I  said,  only  for 
temporary  loose  change." 

"It's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,"  says  I,  in 
respect  for  his  mortification;  "in  case  of  an 
emergency.  Of  course,  it's  small  compared  to 
organizing  a  trust  or  bridge  whist,  but  even 
the  Chicago  University  had  to  be  started  in  a 
small  way." 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  139 

"What's  your  graft  these  days : "  Buckingham 
Skinner  asks  me. 

"The  legitimate,"  says  I.  "I'm  handling 
rhinestones  and  Dr.  Oleum  Sinapi's  Electric 
Headache  Battery  and  the  Swiss  Warbler's 
Bird  Call,  a  small  lot  of  the  new  queer  ones  and 
twos,  and  the  Bonanza  Budget,  consisting  of  a 
rolled-gold  wedding  and  engagement  ring,  six 
Egyptian  lily  bulbs,  a  combination  pickle  fork 
and  nail-clipper,  and  fifty  engraved  visiting 
cards — no  two  names  alike — all  for  the  sum  of 
38  cents." 

"Two  months  ago,"  says  Buckingham 
Skinner,  "I  was  doing  well  down  in  Texas  with 
a  patent  instantaneous  fire  kindler,  made  of 
compressed  wood  ashes  and  benzine.  I  sold 
loads  of  'em  in  towns  where  they  like  to  burn 
niggers  quick,  without  having  to  ask  somebody 
for  a  light.  And  just  when  I  was  doing  the  best 
they  strikes  oil  down  there  and  puts  me  out  of 
business.  'Your  machine's  too  slow,  now, 
pardner,'  they  tells  me.  'We  can  have  a  coon 
in  hell  with  this  here  petroleum  before  your 
old  flint-and-tinder  truck  can  get  him  warm 
enough  to  perfess  religion.'  And  so  I  gives  up 
the  kindler  and  drifts  up  here  to  K.  C.  This 
little  curtain-raiser  you  seen  me  doing,  Mr. 
Pickens,  with  the  simulated  farm  and  the  hypo 
thetical  team,  ain't  in  my  line  at  all,  and  I'm 
ashamed  you  found  me  working  it." 

"No  man,"  says  I,  kindly,  need  to  be  ashamed 
of  putting  the  skibunk  on  a  loan  corporation 
for  even  so  small  a  sum  as  ten  dollars,  when  he 
is  financially  abashed.  Still,  it  wasn't  quite 


1 40  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

the  proper  thing.  It's  too  much  like  borrowing 
money  without  paying  it  back." 

I  liked  Buckingham  Skinner  from  the  start, 
for  as  good  a  man  as  ever  stood  over  the  axles 
and  breathed  gasoline  smoke.  And  pretty 
soon  we  gets  thick,  and  I  let  him  in  on  a  scheme 
I'd  had  in  mind  for  some  time,  and  offers  to  go 
partners. 

"Anything,"  says  Buck,  "that  is  not  actually 
dishonest  will  find  me  willing  and  ready.  Let 
us  perforate  into  the  inwardness  of  your  propo 
sition.  I  feel  degraded  when  I  am  forced  to 
wear  property  straw  in  my  hair  and  assume 
a  bucolic  air  for  the  small  sum  of  ten  dollars. 
Actually,  Mr.  Pickens,  it  makes  me  feel  like 
the  Ophelia  of  the  Great  Occidental  All-Star 
One-Night  Consolidated  Theatrical  Aggre 
gation." 

This  scheme  of  mine  was  one  that  suited  my 
proclivities.  By  nature  I  am  some  sentimental, 
and  have  always  felt  gentle  toward  the  molli 
fying  elements  of  existence.  I  am  disposed  to 
be  lenient  with  the  arts  and  sciences;  and  I  find 
time  to  instigate  a  cordiality  for  the  more  human 
works  of  nature,  such  as  romance  and  the 
atmosphere  and  grass  and  poetry  and  the 
Seasons.  I  never  skin  a  sucker  without  admir 
ing  the  prismatic  beauty  of  his  scales.  I  never 
sell  a  little  auriferous  trifle  to  the  man  with  the 
hoe  without  noticing  the  beautiful  harmony 
there  is  between  gold  and  green.  And  that's 
why  I  liked  this  scheme;  it  was  so  full  of  outdoor 
air  and  landscapes  and  easy  money. 

We  had  to  have  a  young  lady  assistant  to 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  141 

help  us  work  this  graft;  and  I  asked  Buck  if  he 
knew  of  one  to  fill  the  bill. 

"One,"  says  I,  "that  is  cool  and  wise  and 
strictly  business  from  her  pompadour  to  her 
Oxfords.  No  ex-toe-dancers  or  gum-chewers 
or  crayon  portrait  canvassers  for  this." 

Buck  claimed  he  knew  a  suitable  feminine  and 
he  takes  me  around  to  see  Miss  Sarah  Malloy. 
The  minute  I  see  her  I  am  pleased.  She  looked 
to  be  the  goods  as  ordered.  No  sign  of  the 
three  p's  about  her — no  peroxide,  patchouli, 
nor  peau  de  soie;  about  twenty-two,  brown  hair, 
pleasant  ways — the  kind  of  a  lady  for  the  place. 

"A  description  of  the  sandbag,  if  you  please," 
she  begins. 

"Why,  ma'am,"  says  I,  "this  graft  of  ours  is 
so  nice  and  refined  and  romantic,  it  would  make 
the  balcony  scene  in  *  Romeo  and  Juliet'  look 
like  second-story  work." 

We  talked  it  over,  and  Miss  Malloy  agreed 
to  come  in  as  a  business  partner.  She  said  she 
was  glad  to  get  a  chance  to  give  up  her  place 
as  stenographer  and  secretary  to  a  suburban 
lot  company,  and  go  into  something  respectable. 

This  is  the  way  we  worked  our  scheme.  First, 
I  figured  it  out  by  a  kind  of  a  proverb.  The 
best  grafts  in  the  world  are  built  up  on  copy 
book  maxims  and  psalms  and  proverbs  and 
Esau's  fables.  They  seem  to  kind  of  hit  off 
human  nature.  Our  peaceful  little  swindle  was 
constructed  on  the  old  saying:  "The  whole 
push  loves  a  lover." 

One  evening  Buck  and  Miss  Malloy  drives  up 
like  blazes  in  a  buggy  to  a  farmer's  door.  She 


142 


THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 


is  pale  but  affectionate,  clinging  to  his  arm — 
always  clinging  to  his  arm.  Any  one  can  see 
that  she  is  a  peach  and  of  the  cling  variety. 
They  claim  they  are  eloping  for  to  be  married 


"She  is  a  peach  and  of  the  cling  variety" 

on  account  of  cruel  parents.  They  ask  where 
they  can  find  a  preacher.  Farmer  says,  "  B'gum 
there  ain't  any  preacher  nigher  than  Reverend 
Abels,  four  miles  over  on  Caney  Creek."  Far 
meress  wipes  her  hand  on  her  apron  and  rubbers 
through  her  specs. 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  143 

Then,  lo  and  look  ye!  Up  the  road  from  the 
other  way  jogs  Parleyvoo  Pickens  in  a  gig, 
dressed  in  black,  white  necktie,  long  face, 
sniffing  his  nose,  emitting  a  spurious  kind  of 
noise  resembling  the  long-meter  doxology. 

"B'jinks!"  says  farmer,  "if  thar  ain't  a 
preacher  now!" 

It  transpires  that  I  am  Rev.  Abijah  Green, 
travelling  over  to  Little  Bethel  school-house  for 
to  preach  next  Sunday. 

The  young  folks  will  have  it  they  must  be 
married,  for  pa  is  pursuing  them  with  the  plow 
mules  and  the  buckboard.  So  the  Reverend 
Green,  after  hesitation,  marries  'em  in  farmer's 
parlor.  And  farmer  grins,  and  has  in  cider, 
and  says  "B'gum!"  and  farmeress  sniffles  a  bit 
and  pats  the  bride  on  the  shoulder.  And 
Parleyvoo  Pickens,  the  wrong  reverend,  writes 
out  a  marriage  certificate,  and  farmer  and 
farmeress  sign  it  as  witnesses.  And  the  parties 
of  the  first,  second,  and  third  part  gets  in  their 
vehicles  and  rides  away.  Oh,  that  was  an 
idyllic  graft!  True  love  and  the  lowing  kine 
and  the  sun  shining  on  the  red  barns — it  cer 
tainly  had  all  other  impostures  I  know  about 
beat  to  a  batter. 

I  suppose  I  happened  along  in  time  to  marry 
Buck  and  Miss  M alloy  at  about  twenty  farm 
houses.  I  hated  to  think  how  the  romance  was 
going  to  fade  later  on  when  all  them  marriage 
certificates  turned  up  in  banks  where  we'd 
discounted  'em,  and  the  farmers  had  to  pay 
them  notes  of  hand  they'd  signed,  running 
from  $300  to  $500. 


144 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  145 

On  the  1 5th  day  of  May  us  three  divided 
about  $6,000.  Miss  Malloy  nearly  cried  with 
joy.  You  don't  often  see  a  tenderhearted  girl 
or  one  that  was  so  bent  on  doing  right. 

"Boys,"  says  she,  dabbing  her  eyes  with  a 
little  handkerchief,  "this  stake  comes  in  handier 
than  a  powder  rag  at  a  fat  men's  ball.  It  gives 
me  a  chance  to  reform.  I  was  trying  to  get  out 
of  the  real  estate  business  when  you  fellows 
came  along.  But  if  you  hadn't  taken  me  in 
on  this  neat  little  proposition  for  removing  the 
cuticle  of  the  rutabaga  propagators  I'm  afraid 
I'd  have  got  into  something  worse.  I  was  about 
to  accept  a  place  in  one  of  these  Women's 
Auxiliary  Bazars,  where  they  build  a  parsonage 
by  selling  a  spoonful  of  chicken  salad  and  a 
cream-puff  for  seventy-five  sents  and  calling  it  a 
Business  Men's  Lunch. 

"Now  I  can  go  into  a  square,  honest  business 
and  give  all  them  queer  jobs  the  shake.  I'm 
going  to  Cincinnati  and  start  a  palm  reading 
and  clairvoyant  joint.  As  Madame  Saramaloi, 
Egyptian  Sorceress,  I  shall  give  everybody  a 
dollar's  worth  of  good  honest  prognostication. 
Good-by,  boys.  Take  my  advice  and  go  into 
some  decent  fake.  Get  friendly  with  the  police 
and  newspapers  and  you'll  be  all  right." 

So  then  we  all  shook  hands,  and  Miss  Malloy 
left  us.  Me  and  Buck  also  rose  up  and  sauntered 
off  a  few  hundred  miles;  for  we  didn't  care  to  be 
around  when  them  marriage  certificates  fell  due. 

With  about  $4,000  between  us  we  hit  that 
bumptious  little  town  off  the  New  Jersey  coast 
they  call  New  York. 


146 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  147 

If  there  ever  was  an  aviary  overstocked  with 
jays  it  is  that  Yaptown-on-the-Hudson.  Cosmo 
politan  they  call  it.  You  bet.  So's  a  piece  of 
riy-paper.  You  listen  close  when  they're  buz 
zing  and  trying  to  pull  their  feet  out  of  the 
sticky  stuff.  "Little  old  New  York's  good 
enough  for  us" — that's  what  they  sing. 

There's  enough  Reubs  walk  down  Broadway 
in  one  hour  to  buy  up  a  week's  output  of  the 
factory  in  Augusta,  Maine,  that  makes 
Knaughty  Knovelties  and  the  little  Phine  Phun 
oroide  gold  finger  ring  that  sticks  a  needle  in 
your  friend's  hand. 

You'd  think  New  York  people  was  all  wise; 
but  no.  They  don't  get  a  chance  to  learn. 
Everything's  too  compressed.  Even  the  hay 
seeds  are  baled  hayseeds.  But  what  else  can 
you  expect  from  a  town  that's  shut  off  from  the 
world  by  the  ocean  on  one  side  and  New  Jersey 
on  the  other? 

It's  no  place  for  an  honest  grafter  with  a  small 
capital.  There's  too  big  a  protective  tariff 
on  bunco.  Even  when  Giovanni  sells  a  quart 
of  warm  worms  and  chestnut  hulls  he  has  to 
hand  out  a  pint  to  an  insectivorous  cop.  And 
the  hotel  man  charges  double  for  everything 
in  the  bill  that  he  sends  by  the  patrol  wagon 
to  the  altar  where  the  duke  is  about  to  marry 
the  heiress. 

But  old  Badville-near-Coney  is  the  ideal 
burg  for  a  refined  piece  of  piracy  if  you  can  pay 
the  bunco  duty.  Imported  grafts  come  pretty 
high.  The  custom-house  officers  that  look  after 
it  carry  clubs,  and  it's  hard  to  smuggle  in  even 


i48  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

a  bib-and-tucker  swindle  to  work  Brooklyn 
with  unless  you  can  pay  the  toll.  But  now,  me 
and  Buck,  having  capital,  descends  upon  New 
York  to  try  and  trade  the  metropolitan  back 
woodsmen  a  few  glass  beads  for  real  estate  just 
as  the  Vans  did  a  hundred  or  two  years  ago. 

At  an  East  Side  hotel  we  gets  acquainted  with 
Romulus  G.  Atterbury,  a  man  with  the  finest 
head  for  financial  operations  I  ever  saw.  It  was 
all  bald  and  glossy  except  for  gray  side  whiskers. 
Seeing  that  head  behind  an  office  railing,  and 
you'd  deposit  a  million  with  it  without  a  receipt. 
This  Atterbury  was  well  dressed,  though  he  ate 
seldom;  and  the  synopsis  of.  his  talk  would 
make  the  conversation  of  a  siren  sound  like  a  cab 
driver's  kick.  He  said  he  used  to  be  a  member 
of  the  Stock  Exchange,  but  some  of  the  big 
capitalists  got  jealous  and  formed  a  ring  that 
forced  him  to  sell  his  seat. 

Atterbury  got  to  liking  me  and  Buck  and  he 
begun  to  throw  on  the  canvas  for  us  some  of  the 
schemes  that  had  caused  his  hair  to  evacuate. 
He  had  one  scheme  for  starting  a  National  Bank 
on  $45  that  made  the  Mississippi  Bubble  look 
as  solid  as  a  glass  marble.  He  talked  this  to  us 
for  three  days,  and  when  his  throat  was  good 
and  sore  we  told  him  about  the  roll  we  had. 
Atterbury  borrowed  a  quarter  from  us  and  went 
out  and  got  a  box  of  throat  lozenges  and  started 
all  over  again.  This  time  he  talked  bigger 
things,  and  he  got  us  to  see  'em  as  he  did.  The 
scheme  he  laid  out  looked  like  a  sure  winner, 
and  he  talked  me  and  Buck  into  putting  our 
capital  against  his  burnished  dome  of  thought. 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  149 

It  looked  all  right  for  a  kid-gloved  graft. 
It  seemed  to  be  just  about  an  inch  and  a  half 
outside  of  the  reach  of  the  police,  and  as  money- 
making  as  a  mint.  It  was  just  what  me  and 
Buck  wanted — a  regular  business  at  a  per 
manent  stand,  with  an  open  air  spieling  with 
tonsillitis  on  the  street  corners  every  evening. 

So,  in  six  weeks  you  see  a  handsome  furnished 
set  of  offices  down  in  the  Wall  Street  neighbor 
hood,  with  "The  Golconda  Gold  Bond  and 
Investment  Company"  in  gilt  letters  on  the 
door.  And  you  see  in  his  private  room,  with  the 
door  open,  the  secretary  and  treasurer,  Mr. 
Buckingham  Skinner,  costumed  like  the  lilies 
of  the  conservatory,  with  his  high  silk  hat  close 
to  his  hand.  Nobody  yet  ever  saw  Buck  outside 
of  an  instantaneous  reach  for  his  hat. 

And  you  might  perceive  the  president  and 
general  manager,  Mr.  R.  G.  Atterbury,  with 
his  priceless  polished  poll,  busy  in  the  main 
office  room  dictating  letters  to  a  shorthand 
countess,  who  has  got  pomp  and  a  pompadour 
that  is  no  less  than  a  guarantee  to  investors. 

There  is  a  bookkeeper  and  an  assistant,  and  a 
general  atmosphere  of  varnish  and  culpability. 

At  another  desk  the  eye  is  relieved  by  the 
sight  of  an  ordinary  man,  attired  with  un 
scrupulous  plainness,  sitting  with  his  feet  up, 
eating  apples,  with  his  obnoxious  hat  on  the 
back  of  his  head.  That  man  is  no  other  than 
Colonel  Tecumseh  (once  "Parleyvoo")  Pickens, 
the  vice-president  of  the  company. 

"No  recherche  rags  for  me,"  I  says  to  Atter 
bury  when  we  was  organizing  the  stage  proper- 


1 50  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

ties  of  the  robbery.  "I'm  a  plain  man,"  says  I, 
"and  I  do  not  use  pajamas,  French,  or  military 
hair-brushes.  Cast  me  for  the  role  of  the  rhine- 
stone-in-the-rough  or  I  don't  go  on  exhibition. 


"Busy  in  the  main  office  room  dictating  letters  to 
shorthand  countess" 

If  you  can  use  me  in  my  natural,  though  dis 
pleasing  form,  do  so." 

"Dress  you  up?"  says  Atterbury;  "I  should 
say  not!     Just  as  you  are  you're  worth  more 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  151 

to  the  business  than  a  whole  roomful  of  the 
things  they  pin  chrysanthemums  on.  You're 
to  play  the  part  of  the  solid  but  disheveled 
capitalist  from  the  Far  West.  You  despise 
the  conventions.  You've  got  so  many  stocks 
you  can  afford  to  shake  socks.  Conservative, 
homely,  rough,  shrewd,  saving — that's  your 
pose.  It's  a  winner  in  New  York.  Keep  your 
feet  on  the  desk  and  eat  apples.  Whenever 
anybody  comes  in  eat  an  apple.  Let  'em  see 
you  stuff  the  peelings  in  a  drawer  of  your  desk. 
Look  as  economical  and  rich  and  rugged  as  you 
can." 

I  followed  out  Atterbury's  instructions.  I 
played  the  Rocky  Mountain  capitalist  without 
ruching  or  frills.  The  way  I  deposited  apple 
peelings  to  my  credit  in  a  drawer  when  any 
customers  came  in  made  Hetty  Green  look  like 
a  spendthrift.  I  could  hear  Atterbury  saying 
to  victims,  as  he  smiled  at  me,  indulgent  and 
venerating,  "That's  our  vice-president,  Colonel 
Pickens  .  .  .  fortune  in  Western  invest 
ments  .  .  .  delightfully  plain  manners,  but 
.  .  .  could  sign  his  check  for  half  a  million 
.  simple  as  a  child  .  .  .  wonderful 
head  .  .  .  conservative  and  careful  almost 
to  a  fault." 

Atterbury  managed  the  business.  Me  and 
Buck  never  quite  understood  all  of  it,  though 
he  explained  it  to  us  in  full.  It  seems  the 
company  was  a  kind  of  cooperative  one,  and 
everybody  that  bought  stock  shared  in  the 
profits.  First,  we  officers  bought  up  a  control 
ling  interest — we  had  to  have  that — of  the 


152 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  153 

shares  at  50  cents  a  hundred — just  what  the 
printer  charged  us — and  the  rest  went  to  the 
public  at  a  dollar  each.  The  company  guar 
anteed  the  stockholders  a  profit  of  ten  per  cent, 
each  month,  payable  on  the  last  day  thereof. 

When  any  stockholder  had  paid  in  as  much  as 
£ioo,  the  company  issued  him  a  Gold  Bond  and 
he  became  a  bondholder.  I  asked  Atterbury 
one  day  what  benefits  and  appurtenances  these 
Gold  Bonds  was  to  an  investor  more  so  than  the 
immunities  and  privileges  enjoyed  by  the  com 
mon  sucker  who  only  owned  stock.  Atterbury 
picked  up  one  of  them  Gold  Bonds,  all  gilt  and 
lettered  up  with  flourishes  and  a  big  red  seal 
tied  with  a  blue  ribbon  in  a  bowknot,  and  he 
looked  at  me  like  his  feelings  was  hurt. 

"My  dear  Colonel  Pickens,"  says  he,  "you 
have  no  soul  for  Art.  Think  of  a  thousand 
homes  made  happy  by  possessing  one  of  these 
beautiful  gems  of  the  lithographer's  skill! 
Think  of  the  joy  in  the  household  where  one 
of  these  Gold  Bonds  hangs  by  a  pink  cord  to  the 
what-not,  or  is  chewed  by  the  baby,  caroling 
gleefully  upon  the  floor!  Ah,  I  see  your  eye 
growing  moist,  Colonel— I  have  touched  you, 
have  I  not?" 

"You  have  not,"  says  I,  "for  I've  been 
watching  you.  The  moisture  you  see  is  apple 
juice.  You  can't  expect  one  man  to  act  as  a 
human  cider-press  and  an  art  connoisseur  too." 

Atterbury  attended  to  the  details  of  the 
concern.  As  I  understand  it,  they  was  simple. 
The  investors  in  stock  paid  in  their  money, 
and — well,  I  guess  that's  all  they  had  to  d^ 


1 54  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

The  company  received  it,  and — I  don't  call  to 
mind  anything  else.  Me  and  Buck  knew  more 
about  selling  corn  salve  than  we  did  about  Wall 
Street,  but  even  we  could  see  how  the  Golconda 
Gold  Bond  Investment  Company  was  making 
money.  You  take  in  money  and  pay  back  ten 
per  cent,  of  it;  it's  plain  enough  that  you  make  a 
clean,  legitimate  profit  of  90  per  cent.,  less 
expenses,  as  long  as  the  fish  bite. 

Atterbury  wanted  to  be  president  and  treas 
urer  too,  but  Buck  winks  an  eye  at  him  and  says: 
"You  was  to  furnish  the  brains.  Do  you  call 
it  good  brain  work  when  you  propose  to  take 
in  money  at  the  door,  too?  Think  again.  I 
hereby  nominate  myself  treasurer  ad  valorem, 
sine  die,  and  by  acclamation.  I  chip  in  that 
much  brain  work  free.  Me  and  Pickens,  we 
furnished  the  capital,  and  we'll  handle  the 
unearned  increment  as  it  incremates." 

It  costs  us  $500  for  office  rent  and  first  pay 
ment  on  furniture;  $1,500  more  went  for  printing 
and  advertising.  Atterbury  knew  his  business. 
"Three  months  to  a  minute  we'll  last,"  says  he. 
"A  day  longer  than  that  and  we'll  have  to  either 
go  under  or  go  under  an  alias.  By  that  time 
we  ought  to  clean  up  $60,000.  And  then  a 
money  belt  and  a  lower  berth  for  me,  and  the 
yellow  journals  and  the  furniture  men  can  pick 
the  bones." 

Our  ads.  done  the  work.  "Country  weeklies 
and  Washington  hand-press  dailies  of  course," 
says  I  when  we  was  ready  to  make  contracts. 

"Man,"  says  Atterbury,  "as  its  advertising 
manager  you  would  cause  a  Limburger  cheese 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  155 

factory  to  remain  undiscovered  during  a  hot 
summer.  The  game  we're  after  is  right  here 
in  New  York  and  Brooklyn  and  the  Harlem 
reading-rooms.  They're  the  people  that  the 
street-car  fenders  and  the  Answers  to  Corre 
spondents  columns  and  the  pickpocket  notices 
are  made  for.  We  want  our  ads.  in  the  biggest 
city  dailies,  top  of  column,  next  to  editorials  on 
radium  and  pictures  of  the  girl  doing  health 
exercises." 

Pretty  soon  the  money  begins  to  roll  in.  Buck 
didn't  have  to  pretend  to  be  busy;  his  desk 
was  piled  high  up  with  money  orders  and  checks 
and  greenbacks.  People  began  to  drop  in  the 
office  and  buy  stock  every  day. 

Most  of  the  shares  went  in  small  amounts — 
$10  and  $25  and  $50,  and  a  good  many  $2  and 
$3  lots.  And  the  bald  and  inviolate  cranium 
of  President  Atterbury  shines  with  enthusiasm 
and  demerit,  while  Colonel  Tecumseh  Pickens, 
the  rude  but  reputable  Croesus  of  the  West, 
consumes  so  many  apples  that  the  peelings  hang 
to  the  floor  from  the  mahogany  garbage  chest 
that  he  calls  his  desk. 

Just  as  Atterbury  said,  we  ran  along  about 
three  months  without  being  troubled.  Buck 
cashed  the  paper  as  fast  as  it  came  in  and  kept 
the  money  in  a  safe  deposit  vault  a  block  or  so 
away.  Buck  never  thought  much  of  banks 
for  such  purposes.  We  paid  the  interest  regu 
lar  on  the  stock  we'd  sold,  so  there  was  nothing 
for  anybody  to  squeal  about.  We  had  nearly 
$50,000  on  hand  and  all  three  of  us  had  been 
living  as  high  as  prize  fighters  out  of  training. 


156  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

One  morning,  as  me  and  Buck  sauntered  into 
the  office,  fat  and  flippant,  from  our  noon  grub, 
we  met  an  easy-looking  fellow,  with  a  bright 
eye  and  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  coming  out.  We 
found  Atterbury  looking  like  he'd  been  caught 
a  mile  from  home  in  a  wet  shower. 

"Know  that  man?"  he  asked  us. 

We  said  we  didn't. 

"I  don't  either,"  says  Atterbury,  wiping  off 
his  head;  "but  I'll  bet  enough  Gold  Bonds  to 
paper  a  cell  in  the  Tombs  that  he's  a  newspaper 
reporter." 

"What  did  he  want?"  asks  Buck. 

"Information,"  says  our  president.  "Said 
he  was  thinking  of  buying  some  stock.  He 
asked  me  about  nine  hundred  questions,  and 
every  one  of  'em  hit  some  sore  place  in  the 
business.  I  know  he's  on  a  paper.  You  can't 
fool  me.  You  see  a  man  about  half  shabby, 
with  an  eye  like  a  gimlet,  smoking  cut  plug, 
with  dandruff  on  his  coat  collar,  and  knowing 
more  than  J.  P.  Morgan  and  Shakespeare  put 
together — if  that  ain't  a  reporter  I  never  saw 
one.  I  was  afraid  of  this.  I  don't  mind  de 
tectives  and  post-office  inspectors — I  talk  to 
'em  eight  minutes  and  then  sell  'em  stock — 
but  them  reporters  take  the  starch  out  of  my 
collar.  Boys,  I  recommend  that  we  declare 
a  dividend  and  fade  away.  The  signs  point 
that  way." 

Me  and  Buck  talked  to  Atterbury  and  got  him 
to  stop  swearing  and  stand  still.  That  fellow 
didn't  look  like  a  reporter  to  us.  Reporters 
always  pull  out  a  pencil  and  tablet  on  you,  and 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  157 

tell  you  a  story  vou've  heard,  and  strikes  you 
for  the  drinks.  But  Atterbury  was  shaky  and 
nervous  all  day. 

The  next  day  me  and  Buck  comes  down  from 
the  hotel  about  ten-thirty.  On  the  way  we 
buys  the  papers,  and  the  first  thing  we  see  is 
a  column  on  the  front  page  about  our  little 
imposition.  It  was  a  shame  the  way  that 
reporter  intimated  that  we  were  no  blood 
relatives  of  the  late  George  W.  Childs.  He 
tells  all  about  the  scheme  as  he  sees  it,  in  a  rich, 
racy  kind  of  guying  style  that  might  amuse  most 
anybody  except  a  stockholder.  Yes,  Atterbury 
was  right;  it  behooveth  the  gaily  clad  treasurer 
and  the  pearly  pated  president  and  the  rugged 
vice-president  of  the  Golconda  Gold  Bond  and 
Investment  Company  to  go  away  real  sudden 
and  quick  that  their  days  might  be  longer  upon 
the  land.  / 

Me  and  Buck  hurries  down  to  the  office.  We 
finds  on  the  stairs  and  in  the  hall  a  crowd  of 
people  trying  to  squeeze  into  our  office,  which 
is  already  jammed  full  inside  to  the  railing. 
They've  nearly  all  got  Golconda  stock  and  Gold 
Bonds  in  their  hands.  Me  and  Buck  judged 
they'd  been  reading  the  papers,  too. 

We  stopped  and  looked  at  our  stockholders, 
some  surprised.  It  wasn't  quite  the  kind  of 
a  gang  we  supposed  had  been  investing.  They 
all  looked  like  poor  people;  there  was  plenty 
of  old  women  and  lots  of  young  girls  that  you'd 
say  worked  in  factories  and  mills.  Some  was 
old  men  that  looked  like  war  veterans,  and  some 
was  crippled,  and  a  good  many  was  just  kids — 


158 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  159 

bootblacks  and  newsboys  and  messengers. 
Some  was  working-men  in  overalls,  with  their 
sleeves  rolled  up.  No  one  of  the  gang  looked 
like  a  stockholder  in  anything  unless  it  was 
a  peanut  stand.  But  they  all  had  Golconda 
stock  and  looked  as  sick  as  you  please. 

I  saw  a  queer  kind  of  pale  look  come  on  Buck's 
face  when  he  sized  up  the  crowd.  He  stepped 
up  to  a  sickly  looking  woman  and  says: 
"Madam,  do  you  own  any  of  this  stock?" 

"I  put  in  a  hundred  dollars,"  says  the  woman, 
faint  like.  "It  was  all  I  had  saved  in  a  year. 
One  of  my  children  is  dying  at  home  now  and 
I  haven't  a  cent  in  the  house.  I  came  to  see 
if  I  could  draw  out  some.  The  circulars  said 
you  could  draw  it  at  any  time.  But  they  say 
now  I  will  lose  it  all." 

There  was  a  smart  kind  of  a  kid  in  the  gang — • 
I  guess  he  was  a  newsboy.  "  I  got  in  twenty-fi ', 
mister,"  he  says,  looking  hopeful  at  Buck's 
silk  hat  and  clothes.  "Dey  paid  me  two-fifty 
a  mont'  on  it.  Say,  a  man  tells  me  dey  can't 
do  dat  and  be  on  the  square.  Is  dat  straight? 
Do  you  guess  I  can  get  out  my  twent-fi'?" 

Some  of  the  old  women  was  crying.  The 
factory  girls  was  plumb  distracted.  They'd 
lost  all  their  savings  and  they'd  be  docked  for 
the  time  they  lost  coming  to  see  about  it. 

There  was  one  girl — a  pretty  one — in  a  red 
shawl,  crying  in  the  corner  like  her  heart  would 
dissolve.  Buck  goes  over  and  asks  her  about  it. 

"It  ain't  so  much  losing  the  money,  mister," 
says  she,  shaking  all  over,  "though  I've  been 
two  years  saving  it  up;  but  Jakey  won't  marry 


i6o 


THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 


me  now.  He'll  take  Rosa  Steinfeld.  I  know 
J — J— Jakey.  She's  got  $400  in  the  savings 
bank.  Ai,  ai,  ai—  "  she  sings  out. 

Buck  looks  all  around  with  that  same  funny 


"'Jakey  won't  marry  me  now.     He'll  take 
Rosa  Steinfeld'" 

look  on  his  face.  And  then  we  see  leaning 
against  the  wall,  puffing  at  his  pipe,  with  his  eye 
shining  at  us,  this  newspaper  reporter.  Buck 
and  me  walks  over  to  him. 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  161 

"You're  a  real  interesting  writer,"  says  Buck. 
"How  far  do  you  mean  to  carry  it?  Anything 
more  up  your  sleeve?" 

"Oh,  I'm  just  waiting  around,"  says  the 
reporter,  smoking  away,  "in  case  any  news 
turns  up.  It's  up  to  your  stockholders  now. 
Some  of  them  might  complain,  you  know. 
Isn't  that  the  patrol  wagon  now?"  he  says, 
listening  to  a  sound  outside.  "No,"  he  goes  on, 
"that's  Doc  Whittleford's  old  cadaver  coupe 
from  the  Roosevelt.  I  ought  to  know  that 
gong.  Yes,  I  suppose  I've  written  some  inter 
esting  stuff  at  times." 

"You  wait,"  says  Buck;  "I'm  going  to  throw 
an  item  of  news  in  your  way." 

Buck  reaches  in  his  pocket  and  hands  me  a 
key.  I  knew  what  he  meant  before  he  spoke. 
Confounded  old  buccaneer — I  knew  what  he 
meant.  They  don't  make  them  any  better 
than  Buck. 

"Pick,"  says  he,  looking  at  me  hard,  "ain't 
this  graft  a  little  out  of  our  line  ?  Do  we  want 
Jakey  to  marry  Rosa  Steinfeld?" 

"You've  got  my  vote,"  says  I.  "I'll  have 
it  here  in  ten  minutes."  And  I  starts  for  the 
safe  deposit  vaults. 

I  comes  back  with  the  money  done  up  in  a  big 
bundle,  and  then  Buck  and  me  takes  the  journal 
ist  reporter  around  to  another  door  and  we  let 
ourselves  into  one  of  the  office  rooms. 

"Now,  my  literary  friend,"  says  Buck,  "take 
a  chair,  and  keep  still,  and  I'll  give  you  an 
interview.  You  see  before  you  two  grafters 
from  Graftersville,  Grafter  County,  Arkansas. 


i6z  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

Me  and  Pick  have  sold  brass  jewelry,  hair  tonic, 
song  books,  marked  cards,  patent  medicines, 
Connecticut  Smyrna  rugs,  furniture  polish,  and 
albums  in  every  town  from  Old  Point  Comfort 
to  the  Golden  Gate.  We've  grafted  a  dollar 
whenever  we  saw  one  that  had  a  surplus  look 
to  it.  But  we  never  went  after  the  simoleon 
in  the  toe  of  the  sock  under  the  loose  brick  in 
the  corner  of  the  kitchen  hearth.  There's  an 
old  saying  you  may  have  heard — 'fussily 
decency  averni' — which  means  it's  an  easy  slide 
from  the  street  faker's  dry  goods  box  to  a  desk  in 
Wall  Street.  We've  took  that  slide,  but  we 
didn't  know  exactly  w7hat  was  at  the  bottom 
of  it.  Now,  you  ought  to  be  wise,  but  you  ain't. 
You've  got  New  York  wiseness,  which  means 
that  you  judge  a  man  by  the  outside  of  his 
clothes.  That  ain't  right.  You  ought  to  look 
at  the  lining  and  seams  and  the  button-holes. 
While  we  are  waiting  for  the  patrol  wagon  you 
might  get  out  your  little  stub  pencil  and  take 
notes  for  another  funny  piece  in  the  paper." 

And  then  Buck  turns  to  me  and  says:  "I 
don't  care  what  Atterbury  thinks.  He  only 
put  in  brains,  and  if  he  gets  his  capital  out  he's 
lucky.  But  what  do  you  say,  Pick?" 

"Me?"  says  I.  "You  ought  to  know  me, 
Buck.  I  didn't  know  who  was  buying  the 
stock." 

"All  right,"  says  Buck.  And  then  he  goes 
through  the  inside  door  into  the  main  office 
and  looks  at  the  gang  trying  to  squeeze  through 
the  railing.  Atterbury  and  his  hat  was  gone. 
And  Buck  makes  'em  a  short  speech. 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  163 

"All  you  lambs  get  in  line.  You're  going 
to  get  your  wool  back.  Don't  shove  so.  Get 
in  a  line — a  line — not  a  pile.  Lady,  will  you 
please  stop  bleating?  Your  money's  waiting  for 
you.  Here,  sonny,  don't  climb  over  that  railing; 
your  dimes  are  safe.  Don't  cry,  sis;  you  ain't 
out  a  cent.  Get  in  line,  I  say.  Here,  Pick, 
come  and  straighten  'em  out  and  let  'em  through 
and  out  by  the  other  door." 

Buck  takes  off  his  coat,  pushes  his  silk  hat  on 
the  back  of  his  head,  and  lights  up  a  reina 
victoria.  He  sits  at  the  table  with  the  boodle 
before  him,  all  done  up  in  neat  packages.  I  gets 
the  stockholders  strung  out  and  marches  'em, 
single  file,  through  from  the  main  room;  and 
the  reporter  passes  'em  out  of  the  side  door 
into  the  hall  again.  As  they  go  by,  Buck  takes 
up  the  stock  and  the  Gold  Bonds,  paying  'em 
cash,  dollar  for  dollar,  the  same  as  they  paid  in. 
The  shareholders  of  the  Golconda  Gold  Bond 
and  Investment  Company  can't  hardly  believe 
it.  They  almost  grabs  the  money  out  of  Buck's 
hands.  Some  of  the  women  keep  on  crying, 
for  it's  a  custom  of  the  sex  to  cry  when  they 
have  sorrow,  to  weep  when  they  have  joy,  and 
to  shed  tears  whenever  they  find  themselves 
without  either. 

The  old  women's  fingers  shake  when  they 
stuff  the  skads  in  the  bosoms  of  their  rusty 
dresses.  The  factory  girls  just  stoop  over  and 
flap  their  dry  goods  a  second,  and  you  hear  the 
elastic  go  "pop"  as  the  currency  goes  down  in 
the  ladies'  department  of  the  "Old  Domestic 
Lisle-Thread  Bank." 


164 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  165 

Some  of  the  stockholders  that  had  been  doing 
the  Jeremiah  act  the  loudest  outside  had  spasms 
of  restored  confidence  and  wanted  to  leave  the 
money  invested.  "Salt  away  that  chicken 
feed  in  your  duds  and  skip  along,"  says  Buck. 
"What  business  have  you  got  investing  in 
bonds?  The  tea-pot  or  the  crack  in  the  wall 
behind  the  clock  for  your  hoard  of  pennies." 

When  the  pretty  girl  in  the  red  shawl  cashes 
in  Buck  hands  her  an  extra  twenty. 

"A  wedding  present,"  says  our  treasurer, 
"from  the  Golconda  Company.  And  say — if 
Jakey  ever  follows  his  nose,  even  at  a  respectful 
distance,  around  the  corner  where  Rosa  Stein- 
feld  lives,  you  are  hereby  authorized  to  knock 
a  couple  of  inches  of  it  off." 

When  they  was  all  paid  off  and  gone,  Buck 
calls  the  newspaper  reporter  and  shoves  the  rest 
of  the  money  over  to  him. 

"You  begun  this,"  says  Buck;  "now  finish  it. 
Over  there  are  the  books,  showing  every  share 
and  bond  issued.  Here's  the  money  to  cover, 
except  what  we've  spent  to  live  on.  You'll  have 
to  act  as  receiver.  I  guess  you'll  do  the  square 
thing  on  account  of  your  paper.  This  is  the 
best  way  we  know  how  to  settle  it.  Me  and 
our  substantial  but  apple-weary  vice-president 
are  going  to  follow  the  example  of  our  revered 
president,  and  skip.  Now,  have  you  got 
enough  news  for  to-day,  or  do  you  want  to 
interview  us  on  etiquette  and  the  best  way 
to  make  over  an  old  taffeta  skirt?" 

"News!"  says  the  newspaper  man,  taking  his 
pipe  out;  "do  you  think  I  could  use  this?  I 


i66  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

don't  want  to  lose  my  job.  Suppose  I  go  around 
to  the  office  and  tell  'em  this  happened.  What'll 
the  managing  editor  say?  He'll  just  hand  me 
a  pass  to  Bellevue  and  tell  me  to  come  back 
when  I  get  cured.  I  might  turn  in  a  story  about 
a  sea  serpent  wiggling  up  Broadway,  but  I 
haven't  got  the  nerve  to  try  'em  with  a  pipe 
like  this.  A  get-rich-quick — excuse  me — gang 
giving  back  the  boodle!  Oh,  no.  I'm  not 
on  the  comic  supplement." 

"You  can't  understand  it,  of  course,"  says 
Buck,  with  his  hand  on  the  door  knob.  "Me 
and  Pick  ain't  Wall  Streeters  like  you  know  'em. 
We  never  allowed  to  swindle  sick  old  women 
and  working  girls  and  take  nickels  off  of  kids. 
In  the  lines  of  graft  we've  worked  we  took 
money  from  the  people  the  Lord  made  to  be 
buncoed — sports  and  rounders  and  smart  Alecks 
and  street  crowds,  that  always  have  a  few 
dollars  to  throw  away,  and  farmers  that 
wouldn't  ever  be  happy  if  the  grafters  didn't 
come  around  and  play  with  'em  when  they 
sold  their  crops.  We  never  cared  to  fish 
for  the  kind  of  suckers  that  bite  here.  No, 
sir.  We  got  too  much  respect  for  the  profes 
sion  and  for  ourselves.  Good-by  to  you,  Mr. 
Receiver." 

"Here!"  says  the  journalist  reporter;  "wait  a 
minute.  There's  a  broker  I  know  on  the  next 
floor.  Wait  till  I  put  this  truck  in  his  safe.  I 
want  you  fellows  to  take  a  drink  on  me  before 
you  go." 

"On  you?"  says  Buck,  winking  solemn. 
"Don't  you  go  and  try  to  make  'em  believe  at 


A  TEMPERED  WIND  167 

the  office  you  said  that.  Thanks.  We  can't 
spare  the  time,  I  reckon.  So  long." 

And  me  and  Buck  slides  out  the  door;  and 
that's  the  way  the  Golconda  Company  went  into 
involuntary  liquefaction. 

If  you  had  seen  me  and  Buck  the  next  night 
you'd  have  had  to  go  to  a  little  bum  hotel  over 
near  the  West  Side  ferry  landings.  We  was  in 
a  little  back  room,  and  I  was  filling  up  a  gross 
of  six-ounce  bottles  with  hydrant  water  colored 
red  with  aniline  and  flavored  with  cinnamon. 
Buck  was  smoking,  contented,  and  he  wore  a 
decent  brown  derby  in  place  of  his  silk  hat. 

"It's  a  good  thing,  Pick,"  says  he,  as  he  drove 
in  the  corks,  "that  we  got  Brady  to  loan  us  his 
horse  and  wagon  for  a  week.  We'll  rustle  up 
a  stake  by  then.  This  hair  tonic'll  sell  right 
along  over  in  Jersey.  Bald  heads  ain't  popular 
over  there  on  account  of  the  mosquitoes." 

Directly  I  dragged  out  my  valise  and  went 
down  in  it  for  labels. 

"Hair  tonic  labels  are  out,"  says  I.  "Only 
about  a  dozen  on  hand." 

"Buy  some  more,"  says  Buck. 

We  investigated  our  pockets  and  found  we 
had  just  enough  money  to  settle  our  hotel  bill 
in  the  morning  and  pay  our  passage  over  the 
ferry. 

"Plenty  of  the  'Shake-the-Shakes  Chill  Cure' 
labels,"  says  I,  after  looking. 

"What  more  do  you  want?"  says  Buck. 
"Slap  'em  on.  The  chill  season  is  just  opening 
up  in  the  Hackensack  low  grounds.  What's 
hair,  anyway,  if  you  have  to  shake  it  off?" 


168  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

We  posted  on  the  Chill  Cure  labels  about  half 
an  hour  and  Buck  says: 

"Making  an  honest  livin's  better  than  that 
Wall  Street,  anyhow;  ain't  it,  Pick?" 

"You  bet,"  says  I. 


HOSTAGES  TO  MOMUS 

I 

I  NEVER  got  inside  of  the  legitimate  line 
of  graft  but  once.  But,  one  time,  as  I  say,  I 
reversed  the  decision  of  the  revised  statutes  and 
undertook  a  thing  that  I'd  have  to  apologize 
for  even  under  the  New  Jersey  trust  laws. 

Me  and  Caligula  Polk,  of  Muskogee  in  the 
Creek  Nation,  was  down  in  the  Mexican  State 
of  Tamaulipas  running  a  peripatetic  lottery 
and  monte  game.  Now,  selling  lottery  tickets 
is  a  government  graft  in  Mexico,  just  like  selling 
forty-eight  cents'  worth  of  postage-stamps  for 
forty-nine  cents  is  over  here.  So  Uncle  Porfirio 
he  instructs  the  rurales  to  attend  to  our  case. 

Ruralcs?  They're  a  sort  of  country  police; 
but  don't  draw  any  mental  crayon  portraits  of 
the  worthy  constable  with  a  tin  star  and  a  gray 
goatee.  The  rurales — well,  if  we'd  mount  our 
Supreme  Court  on  broncos,  arm  'em  with 
Winchesters,  and  start  'em  out  after  John  Doe 
et  al.  we'd  have  about  the  same  thing. 

When  the  rurales  started  for  us  we  started 
for  the  States.  They  chased  us  as  far  as 
Matamoras.  We  hid  in  a  brickyard;  and  that 
night  we  swum  the  Rio  Grande,  Caligula  with 
a  brick  in  each  hand,  absent-minded,  which 

169 


170  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

he  drops  upon  the  soil  of  Texas,  forgetting  he 
had  'em. 

From  there  we  migrated  to  San  Antone,  and 
then  over  to  New  Orleans,  where  we  took  a  rest. 
And  in  that  town  of  cotton  bales  and  other 
adjuncts  to  female  beauty  we  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  drinks  invented  by  the  Creoles 
during  the  period  of  Louey  Cans,  in  which  they 
are  still  served  at  the  side  doors.  The  most  I 
can  remember  of  this  town  is  that  me  and 
Caligula  and  a  Frenchman  named  McCarty 
— wait  a  minute;  Adolph  McCarty — was  trying 
to  make  the  French  Quarter  pay  up  the  back 
trading-stamps  due  on  the  Louisiana  Purchase, 
when  somebody  hollers  that  the  johndarms  are 
coming.  I  have  an  insufficient  recollection  of 
buying  two  yellow  tickets  through  a  window; 
and  I  seemed  to  see  a  man  swing  a  lantern  and 
say  "All  aboard!"  I  remembered  no  more, 
except  that  the  train  butcher  was  covering  me 
and  Caligula  up  with  Augusta  J.  Evans's  works 
and  figs. 

When  we  become  revised,  we  find  that  we 
have  collided  up  against  the  State  of  Georgia  at 
a  spot  hitherto  unaccounted  for  in  time  tables 
except  by  an  asterisk,  which  means  that  trains 
stop  every  other  Thursday  on  signal  by  tearing 
up  a  rail.  We  was  waked  up  in  a  yellow  pine 
hotel  by  the  noise  of  flowers  and  the  smell  of 
birds.  Yes,  sir,  for  the  wind  was  banging  sun 
flowers  as  big  as  buggy  wheels  against  the 
weatherboarding  and  the  chicken  coop  was 
right  under  the  window.  Me  and  Caligula 


dressed  and  went  downstairs.  The  landlord 
was  shelling  peas  on  the  front  porch.  He  was 
six  feet  of  chills  and  fever,  and  Hongkong  in 
complexion  though  in  other  respects  he  seemed 
amenable  in  the  exercise  of  his  sentiments  and 
features. 

Caligula,  who  is  a  spokesman  by  birth,  and  a 
small  man,  though  red-haired  and  impatient 
of  painfulness  of  any  kind,  speaks  up. 

"Pardner,"  says  he,  "good-morning,  and  be 
darned  to  you.  Would  you  mind  telling  us  why 
we  are  at  ?  We  know  the  reason  we  are  where, 
but  can't  exactly  figure  out  on  account  of  at 
what  place." 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  says  the  landlord,  "I 
reckoned  you-all  would  be  inquiring  this  morn 
ing.  You  all  dropped  off  of  the  nine-thirty 
train  here  last  night;  and  you  was  right  tight. 
Yes,  you  was  right  smart  in  liquor.  I  can  inform 
you  that  you  are  now  in  the  town  of  Mountain 
Valley,  in  the  State  of  Georgia." 

"On  top  of  that,"  says  Caligula,  "don't  say 
that  we  can't  have  anything  to  eat." 

"Sit  down,  gentlemen,"  says  the  landlord, 
"and  in  twenty  minutes  I'll  call  you  to  the  best 
breakfast  you  can  get  anywhere  in  town." 

That  breakfast  turned  out  to  be  composed  of 
fried  bacon  and  a  yellowish  edifice  that  proved 
up  something  between  pound  cake  and  flexible 
sandstone.  The  landlord  calls  it  corn  pone; 
and  then  he  sets  out  a  dish  of  the  exaggerated 
breakfast  food  known  as  hominy;  and  so  me 
and  Caligula  makes  the  acquaintance  of  the 


172  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

i 

celebrated  food  that  enabled  every  Johnny  Reb 
to  lick  one  and  two-thirds  Yankees  for  nearly 
four  years  at  a  stretch. 

"The  wonder  to  me  is,"  says  Caligula,  "that 
Uncle  Robert  Lee's  boys  didn't  chase  the  Grant 
and  Sherman  outfit  clear  up  into  Hudson's  Bay. 
It  would  have  made  me  that  mad  to  eat  this 
truck  they  call  mahogany!" 

"Hog  and  hominy,"  I  explains,  "is  the  staple 
food  of  this  section." 

"Then,"  says  Caligula,  "they  ought  to  keep 
it  where  it  belongs.  I  thought  this  was  a  hotel 
and  not  a  stable.  Now,  if  we  was  in  Muskogee 
at  the  St.  Lucifer  House,  I'd  show  you  some 
breakfast  grub.  Antelope  steaks  and  fried 
liver  to  begin  on,  and  venison  cutlets  with 
chili  con  carne  and  pineapple  fritters,  and  then 
some  sardines  and  mixed  pickles;  and  top  it  off 
with  a  can  of  yellow  clings  and  a  bottle  of  beer. 
You  won't  find  a  layout  like  that  on  the  bill  of 
affairs  of  any  of  your  Eastern  restauraws." 

"Too  lavish,"  says  I.  "I've  travelled,  and 
I'm  unprejudiced.  There'll  never  be  a  perfect 
breakfast  eaten  until  some  man  grows  arms 
long  enough  to  stretch  down  to  New  Orleans 
for  his  coffee  and  over  to  Norfolk  for  his  rolls, 
and  reaches  up  to  Vermont  and  digs  a  slice  of 
butter  out  of  a  spring-house,  and  then  turns  over 
a  beehive  close  to  a  white  clover  patch  out  in 
Indiana  for  the  rest.  Then  he'd  come  pretty 
close  to  making  a  meal  on  the  amber  that  the 
gods  eat  on  Mount  Olympia." 

"Too  ephemeral,"  says  Caligula.  "I'd  want 
ham  and  eggs,  or  rabbit  stew,  anyhow,  for  a 


HOSTAGES  TO  MOMUS  173 

chaser.  What  do  you  consider  the  most  edifying 
and  casual  in  the  way  of  a  dinner?" 

"I've  been  infatuated  from  time  to  time," 
I  answers,  "with  fancy  ramifications  of  grub 
such  as  terrapins,  lobsters,  reed  birds,  jambolaya, 
and  canvas-covered  ducks;  but  after  all  there's 
nothing  less  displeasing  to  me  than  a  beefsteak 
smothered  in  mushrooms  on  a  balcony  in  sound 
of  the  Broadway  street  cars,  with  a  hand-organ 
playing  down  below,  and  the  boys  hollering  ex 
tras  about  the  latest  suicide.  For  the  wine, 
give  me  a  reasonable  Ponty  Cany.  And  that's 
all,  except  a  demi-tasse" 

"  Well,"  says  Caligula,  "  I  reckon  in  New  York 
you  get  to  be  a  conniseer;  and  when  you  go 
around  with  a  demi-tasse  you  are  naturally 
bound  to  buy  'em  stylish  grub." 

"It's  a  great  town  for  epicures,"  says  I. 
You'd  soon  fall  into  their  ways  if  you  was  there." 

"I've  heard  it  was,"  says  Caligula.  "But  I 
reckon  I  wouldn't.  I  can  polish  my  fingernails 
all  they  need  myself." 

II 

After  breakfast  we  went  out  on  the  front 
porch,  lighted  up  two  of  the  landlord's  flor  de 
upas  perfectos,  and  took  a  look  at  Georgia. 

The  installment  of  scenery  visible  to  the  eye 
looked  mighty  poor.  As  far  as  we  could  see  was 
red  hills  all  washed  down  with  gullies  and 
scattered  over  with  patches  of  piny  woods. 
Blackberry  bushes  was  all  that  kept  the  rail 
fences  from  falling  down.  About  fifteen  miles 


174  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

over  to  the  north  was  a  little  range  of  well- 
timbered  mountains. 

That  town  of  MountainValley  wasn't  going. 
About  a  dozen  people  permeated  along  the  side 
walks;  but  what  you  saw  mostly  was  rain- 
barrels  and  roosters,  and  boys  poking  around 
with  sticks  in  piles  of  ashes  made  by  burning 
the  scenery  of  Uncle  Tom  shows. 

And  just  then  there  passes  down  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street  a  high  man  in  a  long  black 
coat  and  a  beaver  hat.  All  the  people  in  sight 
bowed,  and  some  crossed  the  street  to  shake 
hands  with  him;  folks  came  out  of  stores  and 
houses  to  holler  at  him;  women  leaned  out  of 
windows  and  smiled;  and  all  the  kids  stopped 
playing  to  look  at  him.  Our  landlord  stepped 
out  on  the  porch  and  bent  himself  double  like 
a  carpenter's  rule,  and  sung  out,  "Good-morn 
ing,  Colonel,"  when  he  was  a  dozen  yards  gone 
by. 

"And  is  that  Alexander,  pa?"  says  Caligula  to 
the  landlord;  "and  why  is  he  called  great?" 

"That,  gentlemen,"  says  the  landlord,  "is  no 
less  than  Colonel  Jackson  T.  Rockingham,  the 
president  of  the  Sunrise  &  Edenville  Tap  Rail 
road,  mayor  of  Mountain  Valley,  and  chairman 
of  the  Perry  County  board  of  immigration  and 
public  improvements." 

"Been  away  a  good  many  years,  hasn't  he?" 
I  asked. 

"No,  sir;  Colonel  Rockingham  is  going  down 
to  the  post-office  for  his  mail.  His  fellow- 
citizens  take  pleasure  in  greeting  him  thus 
every  morning.  The  colonel  is  our  most  prom- 


HOSTAGES  TO  MOMUS  175 

inent  citizen.  Besides  the  height  of  the  stock 
of  the  Sunrise  &  Edenville  Tap  Railroad,  he 
owns  a  thousand  acres  of  that  land  across  the 
creek.  Mountain  Valley  delights,  sir,  to  honor 
a  citizen  of  such  worth  and  public  spirit." 

For  an  hour  that  afternoon  Caligula  sat  on  the 
back  of  his  neck  on  the  porch  and  studied  a  news 
paper,  which  wTas  unusual  in  a  man  who  despised 
print.  When  he  was  through  he  took  me  to  the 
end  of  the  porch  among  the  sunlight  and  drying 
dishtowels.  I  knew  that  Caligula  had  invented 
a  new  graft.  For  he  chewed  the  ends  of  his 
mustache  and  ran  the  left  catch  of  his  suspenders 
up  and  down,  which  was  his  way. 

"What  is  it  now?"  I  asks.  "Just  so  it  ain't 
floating  mining  stocks  or  raising  Pennsylvania 
pinks,  we'll  talk  it  over." 

"Pennsylvania  pinks?  Oh,  that  refers  to  a 
coin-raising  scheme  of  the  Keystoners.  They 
burn  the  soles  of  old  women's  feet  to  make  them 
tell  where  their  money's  hid." 

Caligula's  words  in  business  was  always  few 
and  bitter. 

"You  see  them  mountains,"  said  he,  pointing. 
"And  you  seen  that  colonel  man  that  owns  rail 
roads  and  cuts  more  ice  when  he  goes  to  the 
post-office  than  Roosevelt  does  when  he  cleans 
'em  out.  What  we're  going  to  do  is  to  kidnap 
the  latter  into  the  former,  and  inflict  a  ransom 
often  thousand  dollars." 

"Illegality,"  says  I,  shaking  my  head. 

"I  knew  you'd  say  that,"  says  Caligula.  "At 
first  sight  it  does  seem  to  jar  peace  and  dignity. 
But  it  don't.  I  got  the  idea  out  of  that  news- 


1 76  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

paper.  Would  you  commit  aspersions  on  a 
equitable  graft  that  the  United  States  itself 
has  condoned  and  indorsed  and  ratified?" 

"Kidnapping,"  says  I,  "is  an  immoral 
function  in  the  derogatory  list  of  the  statutes. 
If  the  United  States  upholds  it,  it  must  be  a 
recent  enactment  of  ethics,  along  with  race 
suicide  and  rural  delivery." 

"Listen,"  says  Caligula,  "and  I'll  explain  the 
case  set  down  in  the  papers.  Here  was  a  Greek 
citizen  named  Burdick  Harris,"  says  he, 
"captured  for  a  graft  by  Africans;  and  the 
United  States  sends  two  gunboats  to  the  State 
of  Tangiers  and  makes  the  King  of  Morocco 
give  up  seventy  thousand  dollars  to  Raisuli." 

"Go  slow,"  says  I.  "That  sounds  too 
international  to  take  in  all  at  once.  It's  like 
'thimble,  thimble,  who's  got  the  naturalization 
papers?" 

"Twas  press  despatches  from  Constanti 
nople,"  says  Caligula.  "You'll  see,  six  months 
from  now.  They'll  be  confirmed  by  the  monthly 
magazines;  and  then  it  won't  be  long  till  you'll 
notice  'em  alongside  of  photos  of  the  Mount 
Pelee  eruption  photos  in  the  while-you-get-your- 
hair-cut  weeklies.  It's  all  right,  Pick.  This 
African  man  Raisuli  hides  Burdick  Harris  up 
in  the  mountains,  and  advertises  his  price  to 
the  governments  of  different  nations.  Now, 
you  wouldn't  think  for  a  minute,"  goes  on 
Caligula,  "that  John  Hay  would  have  chipped 
in  and  helped  this  graft  along  if  it  wasn't  a 
square  game,  would  you?" 

"Why,    no,"    says    I.     "I've    always    stood 


HOSTAGES  TO  MOM  IS  177 

right  in  with  Bryan's  policies,  and  I  couldn't 
consciously  say  a  word  against  the  Republican 
administration  just  now.  But  if  Harris  was  a 
Greek,  on  what  system  of  international  protocols 
did  Hay  interfere?" 

"It  ain't  exactly  set  forth  in  the  papers,"  says 
Caligula.  "  I  suppose  it's  a  matter  of  sentiment. 
You  know  he  wrote  this  poem,  'Little  Breeches'; 
and  them  Greeks  wear  little  or  none.  But 
anyhow,  John  Hay  sends  the  Brooklyn  and  the 
Olympia  over,  and  they  cover  Africa  with 
thirty-inch  guns.  And  then  Hay  cables  after 
the  health  of  the  persona  grata.  'And  how  are 
they  this  morning?'  he  wires.  'Is  Burdick 
Harris  alive  yet,  or  Mr.  Raisuli  dead?'  And 
the  King  of  Morocco  sends  up  the  seventy 
thousand  dollars,  and  they  turn  Burdick  Harris 
loose.  And  there's  not  half  the  hard  feelings 
among  the  nations  about  this  little  kidnapping 
matter  as  there  was  about  the  peace  congress. 
And  Burdick  Harris  says  to  the  reporters,  in  the 
Greek  language,  that  he's  often  heard  about  the 
United  States,  and  he  admires  Roosevelt  next 
to  Raisuli,  who  is  one  of  the  whitest  and  most 
gentlemanly  kidnappers  that  he  ever  worked 
alongside  of.  So  you  see,  Pick,"  winds  up 
Caligula,  "we've  got  the  law  of  nations  on  our 
side.  We'll  cut  this  colonel  man  out  of  the  herd, 
and  corral  him  in  them  little  mountains,  and 
stick  up  his  heirs  and  assigns  for  ten  thousand 
dollars." 

"Well,  you  seldom  little  red-headed  terri 
torial  terror,"  I  answers,  "vou  can't  bluff  your 
uncle  Tecumseh  Pickens!  I'll  be  your  company 


i73  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

in  this  graft.  But  I  misdoubt  if  you've  ab 
sorbed  the  inwardness  of  this  Burdick  Harris 
case,  Calig;  and  if  on  any  morning  we  get  a 
telegram  from  the  Secretary  of  State  asking 
about  the  health  of  the  scheme,  I  propose  to 
acquire  the  most  propinquitous  and  celeritous 
mule  in  this  section  and  gallop  diplomatically 
over  into  the  neighboring  and  peaceful  nation 
of  Alabama." 

Ill 

Me  and  Caligula  spent  the  next  three  days 
investigating  the  bunch  of  mountains  into 
which  we  proposed  to  kidnap  Colonel  Jackson 
T.  Rockingham.  We  finally  selected  an  up 
right  slice  of  topography  covered  with  bushes 
and  trees  that  you  could  only  reach  by  a  secret 
path  that  we  cut  up  the  side  of  it.  And  the 
only  way  to  reach  the  mountain  was  to  follow 
up  the  bend  of  a  branch  that  wound  among  the 
elevations. 

Then  I  took  in  hand  an  important  subdivision 
of  the  proceedings.  I  went  up  to  Atlanta  on  the 
train  and  laid  in  a  two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar 
supply  of  the  most  gratifying  and  efficient  lines 
of  grub  that  money  could  buy.  I  always  was 
an  admirer  of  viands  in  their  more  palliative 
and  revised  stages.  Hog  and  hominy  are  not 
only  inartistic  to  my  stomach,  but  they  give 
indigestion  to  my  moral  sentiments.  And  I 
thought  of  Colonel  Jackson  T.  Rockingham, 
president  of  the  Sunrise  &  Edenville  Tap  Rail 
road,  and  how  he  would  miss  the  luxury  of  his 


HOSTAGES  TO  MOMUS  179 

home  fare  as  is  so  famous  among  wealthy 
Southerners.  So  I  sunk  half  of  mine  and 
Caligula's  capital  in  as  elegant  a  layout  of  fresh 
and  canned  provisions  as  Burdick  Harris  or  any 
other  professional  kidnappee  ever  saw  in  a  camp. 

I  put  another  hundred  in  a  couple  of  cases 
of  Bordeaux,  two  quarts  of  cognac,  two  hundred 
Havana  regalias  with  gold  bands,  and  a  camp 
stove  and  stools  and  folding  cots.  I  wanted 
Colonel  Rockingham  to  be  comfortable;  and 
I  hoped  after  he  gave  up  the  ten  thousand 
dollars  he  would  give  me  and  Caligula  as  good 
a  name  for  gentlemen  and  entertainers  as  the 
Greek  man  did  the  friend  of  his  that  made  the 
United  States  his  bill  collector  against  Africa. 
When  the  goods  came  down  from  Atlanta,  we 
hired  a  wagon,  moved  them  up  on  the  little 
mountain,  and  established  camp.  And  then 
we  laid  for  the  colonel. 

We  caught  him  one  morning  about  two  miles 
out  from  Mountain  Valley,  on  his  way  to  look 
after  some  of  his  burnt  umber  farm  land.  He 
was  an  elegant  old  gentleman,  as  thin  and  tall 
as  a  trout  rod,  with  frazzled  shirt-cuffs  and  specs 
on  a  black  string.  We  explained  to  him, 
brief  and  easy,  what  we  wanted;  and  Caligula 
showed  him,  careless,  the  handle  of  his  forty- 
five  under  his  coat. 

"What?"  says  Colonel  Rockingham. 
"Bandits  in  Perry  County,  Georgia!  I  shall 
see  that  the  board  of  immigration  and  public 
improvements  hears  of  this!" 

"Be  so  unfoolhardy  as  to  climb  into  that 
buggy,"  says  Caligula,  "by  order  of  the  board 


i8o  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

of  perforation  and  public  depravity.  This 
is  a  business  meeting,  and  we're  anxious  to 
adjourn  sine  qua  non." 

We  drove  Colonel  Rockingham  over  the 
mountain  and  up  the  side  of  it  as  far  as  the 
buggy  could  go.  Then  we  tied  the  horse,  and 
took  our  prisoner  on  foot  up  to  the  camp. 

"Now,  colonel,"  I  says  to  him,  "we're  after 
the  ransom,  me  and  my  partner;  and  no  harm 
will  come  to  }^ou  if  the  King  of  Mor— if  your 
friends  send  up  the  dust.  In  the  meantime, 
we  are  gentlemen  the  same  as  you.  And  if  you 
give  us  your  word  not  to  try  to  escape,  the  free 
dom  of  the  camp  is  yours." 

"I  give  you  my  wrord,"  says  the  colonel. 

"All  right,"  says  I;  "and  now  it's  eleven 
o'clock  and  me  and  Mr.  Polk  will  proceed  to 
inoculate  the  occasion  with  a  few  well-timed 
trivialities  in  the  line  of  grub." 

"Thank  you,"  says  the  colonel;  "I  believe 
I  could  relish  a  slice  of  bacon  and  a  plate  of 
hominy." 

"But  you  won't,"  says  I,  emphatic.  "Not 
in  this  camp.  We  soar  in  higher  regions  than 
them  occupied  by  your  celebrated  but  repulsive 
dish." 

While  the  colonel  read  his  paper,  me  and 
Caligula  took  off  our  coats  and  went  in  for 
a  little  luncheon  de  luxe  just  to  show  him. 
Caligula  was  a  fine  cook  of  the  Western  brand. 
He  could  toast  a  buffalo  or  fricassee  a  couple 
of  steers  as  easy  as  a  woman  could  make  a  cup 
of  tea.  He  was  gifted  in  the  way  of  knocking 
together  edibles  when  haste  and  muscle  and 


HOSTAGES  TO  MOMUS  181 

quantity  was  to  be  considered.  He  held  the 
record  west  of  the  Arkansas  River  for  frying 
pancakes  with  his  left  hand,  broiling  venison 
cutlets  with  his  right  and  skinning  a  rabbit 
with  his  teeth  at  the  same  time.  But  I  could 
do  things  en  casserole  and  a  la  Creole,  and  handle 
the  oil  and  tabasco  as  gently  and  nicely  as  a 
French  chef. 

So  at  twelve  o'clock  we  had  a  hot  lunch 
ready  that  looked  like  a  banquet  on  a  Mississippi 
River  steamboat.  We  spread  it  on  the  tops 
of  two  or  three  big  boxes,  opened  two  quarts 
of  the  red  wine,  set  the  olives  and  a  canned 
oyster  cocktail  and  a  ready-made  Martini  by 
the  colonel's  plate,  and  called  him  to  grub. 

Colonel  Rockingham  drew  up  his  campstool, 
wiped  off  his  specs,  and  looked  at  the  things 
on  the  table.  Then  I  thought  he  was  swearing; 
and  I  felt  mean  because  I  hadn't  taken  more 
pains  with  the  victuals.  But  he  wasn't;  he 
was  asking  a  blessing;  and  me  and  Caligula 
hung  our  heads  and  I  saw  a  tear  drop  from  the 
colonel's  eye  into  his  cocktail. 

I  never  saw  a  man  eat  with  so  much  earnest 
ness  and  application — not  hastily  like  a  gram 
marian  or  one  of  the  canal,  but  slow  and  ap 
preciative,  like  a  anaconda,  or  a  real  vive  bonjour. 

In  an  hour  and  a  half  the  colonel  leaned  back. 
I  brought  him  a  pony  of  brandy  and  his  black 
coffee,  and  set  the  box  of  Havana  regalias  on 
the  table. 

"Gentlemen,"  says  he,  blowing  out  the  smoke 
and  trying  to  breathe  it  back  again,  "when  we 
view  the  eternal  hills  and  the  smiling  and 


1 82  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

beneficent  landscape,  and  reflect  upon  the  good 
ness  of  the  Creator  who " 

"Excuse  me,  colonel,"  says  I,  "but  there's 
some  business  to  attend  to  now";  and  I  brought 
out  paper  and  pen  and  ink  and  laid  'em  before 
him.  "Who  do  you  want  to  send  to  for  the 
money?"  I  asks. 

"I  reckon,"  says  he,  after  thinking  a  bit, 
"to  the  vice-president  of  our  railroad,  at  the 
general  offices  of  the  Company  in  Edenville." 

"How  far  is  it  to  Edenville  from  here?"  I 
asked. 

"About  ten  miles,"  says  he. 

Then  I  dictated  these  lines,  and  Colonel 
Rockingham  wrote  them  out: 

I  am  kidnapped  and  held  a  prisoner  by  two  desperate 
outlaws  in  a  place  which  is  useless  to  attempt  to  find. 
They  demand  ten  thousand  dollars  at  once  for  my  release. 
The  amount  must  be  raised  immediately,  and  these 
directions  followed.  Come  alone  with  the  money  to  Stony 
Creek,  which  runs  out  of  Blacktop  Mountains.  Follow 
the  bed  of  the  creek  till  you  come  to  a  big  flat  rock  on  the 
left  bank,  on  which  is  marked  a  cross  in  red  chalk.  Stand 
on  the  rock  and  wave  a  white  flag.  A  guide  will  come  to 
you  and  conduct  you  to  where  I  am  held.  Lose  no  time. 

After  the  colonel  had  finished  this,  he  asked 
permission  to  tack  on  a  postscript  about  how 
w7hite  he  was  being  treated,  so  the  railroad 
wouldn't  feel  uneasy  in  its  bosom  about  him. 
We  agreed  to  that.  He  wrote  down  that  he 
had  just  had  lunch  with  the  two  desperate 
ruffians;  and  then  he  set  down  the  whole  bill 
of  fare,  from  cocktails  to  coffee.  He  wound 
up  with  the  remark  that  dinner  would  be 


HOSTAGES  TO  MOMUS  183 

ready  about  six,  and  would  probably  be  a  more 
licentious  and  intemperate  affair  than  lunch. 

Me  and  Caligula  read  it,  and  decided  to  let 
it  go;  for  we,  being  cooks,  were  amenable  to 
praise,  though  it  sounded  out  of  place  on  a  sight 
draft  for  ten  thousand  dollars. 

I  took  the  letter  over  to  the  Mountain  Valley 
road  and  watched  for  a  messenger.  By  and  by 
a  colored  equestrian  came  along  on  horseback, 
riding  toward  Edenville.  I  gave  him  a  dollar 
to  take  the  letter  to  the  railroad  offices;  and  then 
I  went  back  to  camp. 

IV 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Caligula, 
who  was  acting  as  lookout,  calls  to  me: 

"I  have  to  report  a  white  shirt  signaling  on 
the  starboard  bow,  sir." 

I  went  down  the  mountain  and  brought  back 
a  fat,  red  man  in  an  alpaca  coat  and  no  collar. 

"Gentlemen,"  says  Colonel  Rockingham, 
"allow  me  to  introduce  my  brother,  Captain 
Duval  C.  Rockingham,  vice-president  of  the 
Sunrise  &  Edenville  Tap  Railroad." 

"Otherwise  the  King  of  Morocco,"  says  I. 
"I  reckon  you  don't  mind  my  counting  the 
ransom,  just  as  a  business  formality." 

"Well,  no,  not  exactly,"  says  the  fat  man, 
"not  when  it  comes.  I  turned  that  matter  over 
to  our  second  vice-president.  I  was  anxious 
after  Brother  Jackson's  safetiness.  I  reckon 
he'll  be  along  right  soon.  What  does  that 
lobster  salad  you  mentioned  taste  like,  Brother 
Jackson?" 


184  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

"Mr.  Vice-President,"  says  I,  "you'll  oblige 
us  by  remaining  here  till  the  second  V.  P. 
arrives.  This  is  a  private  rehearsal,  and  we 
don't  want  any  roadside  speculators  selling 
tickets." 

In  half  an  hour  Caligula  sings  out  again: 

"Sail  ho!  Looks  like  an  apron  on  a  broom 
stick." 

I  perambulated  down  the  cliff  again,  and 
escorted  up  a  man  six  foot  three,  with  a  sandy 
beard  and  no  other  dimensions  that  you  could 
notice.  Thinks  I  to  myself,  if  he's  got  ten 
thousand  dollars  on  his  person  it's  in  one  bill 
and  folded  lengthwise. 

"Mr.  Patterson  G.  Coble,  our  second  vice- 
president,"  announces  the  colonel. 

"Glad  to  know  you,  gentlemen,"  says  this 
Coble.  "I  came  up  to  disseminate  the  tidings 
that  Major  Tallahassee  Tucker,  our  general 
passenger  agent,  is  now  negotiating  a  peach- 
crate  full  of  our  railroad  bonds  with  the  Perry 
County  Bank  for  a  loan.  My  dear  Colonel 
Rockingham,  was  that  chicken  gumbo  or 
cracked  goobers  on  the  bill  of  fare  in  your  note  ? 
Me  and  the  conductor  of  fifty-six  was  having 
a  dispute  about  it." 

"Another  white  wings  on  the  rocks!"  hollers 
Caligula.  "If  I  see  any  more  I'll  fire  on  'em 
and  swear  they  was  torpedo-^oats!" 

The  guide  goes  down  again,  and  convoys  into 
the  lair  a  person  in  blue  overalls  carrying  an 
amount  of  inebriety  and  a  lantern.  I  am  so 
sure  that  this  is  Major  Tucker  that  I  don't  even 
ask  him  until  we  are  up  above;  and  then  I 


HOSTAGES  TO  MOMUS  185 

discover  that  it  is  Uncle  Timothy,  the  yard 
switchman  at  Edenville,  who  is  sent  ahead  to 
flag  our  understandings  with  the  gossip  that 
Judge  Prendergast,  the  railroad's  attorney,  is  in 
the  process  of  mortgaging  Colonel  Rockingham's 
farming  lands  to  make  up  the  ransom. 

While  he  is  talking,  two  men  crawl  from  under 
the  bushes  into  camp,  and  Caligula,  with  no 
white  flag  to  disinter  him  from  his  plain  duty, 
draws  his  gun.  But  again  Colonel  Rockingham 
intervenes  and  introduces  Mr.  Jones  and  Mr. 
Batts,  engineer  and  fireman  of  train  number 
forty-two. 

"Excuse  us,"  says  Batts,  "but  me  and  Jim 
have  hunted  squirrels  all  over  this  mounting, 
and  we  don't  need  no  white  flag.  Was  that 
straight,  colonel,  about  the  plum  pudding  and 
pineapples  and  real  store  cigars?" 

"Towel  on  a  fishing-pole  in  the  offing!"  howls 
Caligula.  "Suppose  its  the  firing  line  of  the 
freight  conductors  and  brakeman." 

"My  last  trip  down,"  says  I,  wiping  off  my 
face.  "If  the  S.  &  E.  T.  wants  to  run  an 
excursion  up  here  just  because  we  kidnapped 
their  president,  let  'em.  We'll  put  out  our 
sign.  'The  Kidnapper's  Cafe  and  Trainmen's 
Home.'" 

This  time  I  caught  Major  Tallahassee  Tucker 
by  his  own  confession,  and  I  felt  easier.  I  asked 
him  into  the  creek,  so  I  could  drown  him  if  he 
happened  to  be  a  track-walker  or  caboose 
porter.  All  the  way  up  the  mountain  he  driv 
eled  to  me  about  asparagus  on  toast,  a  thing 
that  his  intelligence  in  life  had  skipped. 


1 86  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

Up  above  I  got  his  mind  segregated  from  food 
and  asked  if  he  had  raised  the  ransom. 

"My  dear  sir,"  says  he,  "I  succeeded  in 
negotiating  a  loan  on  thirty  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  the  bonds  of  our  railroad,  and ' 

"Never  mind  just  now,  major,"  says  I.  "It's 
all  right,  then.  Wait  till  after  dinner,  and  we'll 
settle  the  business.  All  of  you  gentlemen," 
I  continues  to  the  crowd,  "are  invited  to  stay 
to  dinner.  We  have  mutually  trusted  one 
another,  and  the  white  flag  is  supposed  to  wave 
over  the  proceedings." 

"The  correct  idea,"  says  Caligula,  who  was 
standing  by  me.  "Two  baggage-masters  and 
a  ticket  agent  dropped  out  of  a  tree  while  you 
was  below  the  last  time.  Did  the  major  man 
bring  the  money?" 

"He  says,"  I  answered,  "that  he  succeeded 
in  negotiating  the  loan." 

If  any  cooks  ever  earned  ten  thousand  dollars 
in  twelve  hours  me  and  Caligula  did  that  day. 
At  six  o'clock  we  spread  the  top  of  the  moun 
tain  with  as  fine  a  dinner  as  the  personnel  of  any 
railroad  ever  engulfed.  We  opened  all  the  wine, 
and  we  concocted  entrees  and  pieces  de  resist 
ance,  and  stirred  up  little  savory  chef  de  cuisines 
and  organized  a  mass  of  grub  such  as  has  seldom 
instigated  out  of  canned  and  bottled  goods. 
The  railroad  gathered  around  it,  and  the  wassail 
and  diversions  was  intense. 

After  the  feast  me  and  Caligula,  in  the  line 
of  business,  takes  Major  Tucker  to  one  side  and 
talks  ransom.  The  major  pulls  out  an  agglo 
meration  of  currency  about  the  size  of  the  price 


HOSTAGES  TO  MOMUS  187 

of  a  town  lot  in  the  suburbs  of  Rabbitville, 
Arizona,  and  makes  this  outcry. 

"Gentlemen,"  says  he,  "the  stock  of  the 
Sunrise  &  Edenville  railroad  has  depreciated 
some.  The  best  I  could  do  with  thirty  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  the  bonds  was  to  secure  a  loan 
of  eighty-seven  dollars  and  fifty  cents.  On  the 
farming  lands  of  Colonel  Rockingham,  Judge 
Pendergast  was  able  to  obtain,  on  a  ninth 
mortgage,  the  sum  of  fifty  dollars.  You  will 
find  the  amount,  one  hundred  and  thirty-seven 
fifty,  correct." 

"A  railroad  president,"  said  I,  looking  this 
Tucker  in  the  eye,  "  and  the  owner  of  a  thousand 
acres  of  land;  and  yet— 

"Gentlemen,"  savs  Tucker,  "The  railroad 
is  ten  miles  long.  There  don't  any  train  run 
on  it  except  when  the  crew  goes  out  in  the  pines 
and  gathers  enough  lightwood  knots  to  get  up 
steam.  A  long  time  ago,  when  times  was  good, 
the  net  earnings  used  to  run  as  high  as  eighteen 
dollars  a  week.  Colonel  Rockingham's  land 
has  been  sold  for  taxes  thirteen  times.  There 
hasn't  been  a  peach  crop  in  this  part  of  Georgia 
for  two  years.  The  wet  spring  killed  the 
watermelons.  Nobody  around  here  has  money 
enough  to  buy  fertilizer;  and  land  is  so  poor  the 
corn  crop  failed,  and  there  wasn't  enough  grass 
to  support  the  rabbits.  All  the  people  have  had 
to  eat  in  this  section  for  over  a  year  is  hog  and 
hominy,  and — 

"Pick,"  interrupts  Caligula,  mussing  up  his 
red  hair,  "what  are  you  going  to  do  with  that 
chicken-feed?" 


1 88  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

I  hands  the  money  back  to  Major  Tucker;  and 
then  I  goes  over  to  Colonel  Rockingham  and 
slaps  him  on  the  back. 

"Colonel,"  says  I,  "I  hope  you've  enjoyed  our 
little  joke.  We  don't  want  to  carry  it  too  far. 
Kidnappers!  Well,  wouldn't  it  tickle  your 
uncle?  My  name's  Rhinegelder,  and  I'm  a 
nephew  of  Chauncey  Depew.  My  friend's  a 
second  cousin  of  the  editor  of  Puck.  So  you  can 
see.  We  are  down  South  enjoying  ourselves 
in  our  humorous  way.  Now,  there's  two  quarts 
of  cognac  to  open  yet,  and  then  the  joke's  over." 

What's  the  use  to  go  into  details  ?  One  or  two 
will  be  enough.  I  remember  Major  Tallahassee 
Tucker  playing  on  a  jew's-harp,  and  Caligula 
waltzing  with  his  head  on  the  watch  pocket 
of  a  tall  baggage-master.  I  hesitate  to  refer 
to  the  cake-walk  done  by  me  and  Mr.  Patterson 
G.  Coble  with  Colonel  Jackson  T.  Rockingham 
between  us. 

And  even  on  the  next  morning,  when  you 
wouldn't  think  it  possible,  there  was  a  conso 
lation  for  me  and  Caligula.  We  knew  that 
Raisuli  himself  never  made  half  the  hit  with 
Burdick  Harris  that  we  did  with  the  Sunrise 
&  Edenville  Tap  Railroad. 


THE  ETHICS  OF  PIG 

ON  AN  east-bound  train  I  went  into  the  smoker 
and  found  Jefferson  Peters,  the  only  man  with 
a  brain  west  of  the  Wabash  River  who  can  use 
his  cerebrum  and  cerebellum,  and  medulla  ob- 
longata  at  the  same  time. 

Jeff  is  in  the  line  of  unillegal  graft.  He  is  not 
to  be  dreaded  by  widows  and  orphans;  he  is 
a  reducer  of  surplusage.  His  favorite  disguise 
is  that  of  the  target-bird  at  which  the  spend 
thrift  or  the  reckless  investor  may  shy  a  few 
inconsequential  dollars.  He  is  readily  vocalized 
by  tobacco;  so,  with  the  aid  of  two  thick  and 
easy-burning  brevas,  I  got  the  story  of  his 
latest  Autolycan  adventure. 

"In  my  line  of  business,"  said  Jeff,  "the 
hardest  thing  is  to  find  an  upright,  trustworthy, 
strictly  honorable  partner  to  work  a  graft  with. 
Some  of  the  best  men  I  ever  worked  with  in 
a  swindle  would  resort  to  trickery  at  times. 

So,  last  summer,  I  thinks  I  will  go  over  into 
this  section  of  country  where  I  hear  the  serpent 
has  not  yet  entered,  and  see  if  I  can  find  a 
partner  naturally  gifted  with  a  talent  for  crime, 
but  not  yet  contaminated  by  success. 

"I  found  a  village  that  seemed  to  show  the 
right  kind  of  a  layout.  The  inhabitants  hadn't 
found  out  that  Adam  had  been  dispossessed, 
189 


190  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

and  were  going  right  along  naming  the  animals 
and  killing  snakes  just  as  if  they  were  in  the 
Garden  of  Eden.  They  call  this  town  Mount 
Nebo,  and  it's  up  near  the  spot  where  Kentucky 
and  West  Virginia  and  North  Carolina  corner 
together.  Them  States  don't  meet?  Well,  it 
was  in  that  neighborhood,  anyway. 

"After  putting  in  a  week  proving  I  wasn't  a 
revenue  officer,  I  went  over  to  the  store  where 
the  rude  fourflushers  of  the  hamlet  lied,  to  see 
if  I  could  get  a  line  on  the  kind  of  man  I  wanted. 

"  'Gentlemen,'  says  I,  after  we  had  rubbed 
noses  and  gathered  'round  the  dried-apple 
barrel.  'I  don't  suppose  there's  another  com 
munity  in  the  whole  world  into  which  sin  and 
chicanery  has  less  extensively  permeated  than 
this.  Life  here,  where  all  the  women  are  brave 
and  propitious  and  all  the  men  honest  and  ex 
pedient,  must,  indeed,  be  an  idol.  It  reminds 
me,'  says  I,  'of  Goldstein's  beautiful  ballad 
entitled  "The  Deserted  Village,"  which  says: 

'111  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey; 

What  art  can  drive  its  charms  away? 
The  judge  rode  slowly  down  the  lane,  mother. 
For  I'm  to  be  Queen  of  the  May. ' 

"'Why,  yes,  Mr.  Peters,'  says  the  storekeeper. 
'I  reckon  we  air  about  as  moral  and  torpid  a 
community  as  there  be  on  the  mounting,  accord 
ing  to  censuses  of  opinion;  but  I  reckon  you 
ain't  ever  met  Rufe  Tatum.' 

"'Why,  no,'  says  the  town  constable,  'he 
can't  hardly  have  ever.  That  air  Rufe  is  shore 
the  monstrousest  scalawag  that  has  escaped 


THE  ETHICS  OF  PIG  191 

hangin'  on  the  galluses.  And  that  puts  me  in 
mind  that  I  ought  to  have  turned  Rufe  out  of 
the  lockup  day  before  yesterday.  The  thirty 
days  he  got  for  killin'  Yance  Goodloe  was  up 
then.  A  day  or  two  more  won't  hurt  Rufe  any, 
though.' 

"'Shucks,  now,'  says  I,  in  the  mountain  idiom, 
'don't  tell  me  there's  a  man  in  Mount  Nebo 
as  bad  as  that.' 

"Worse,'  says  the  storekeeper.     'He  steals 
hogs.' 

"I  think  I  will  look  up  this  Mr.  Tatum;  so 
a  day  or  two  after  the  constable  turned  him  out 
I  got  acquainted  with  him  and  invited  him  out 
on  the  edge  of  town  to  sit  on  a  log  and  talk 
business. 

"What  I  wanted  was  a  partner  with  a  natural 
rural  make-up  to  play  a  part  in  some  little  one- 
act  outrages  that  I  was  going  to  book  with  the 
Pitfall  &  Gin  circuit  in  some  of  the  Western 
towns;  and  this  R.  Tatum  was  born  for  the  role 
as  sure  as  nature  cast  Fairbanks  for  the  stuff 
that  kept  Eliza  from  sinking  into  the  river. 

"He  was  about  the  size  of  a  first  baseman; 
and  he  had  ambiguous  blue  eyes  like  the  china 
dog  on  the  mantelpiece  that  Aunt  Harriet  used 
to  play  with  when  she  was  a  child.  His  hair 
waved  a  little  bit  like  the  statue  of  the  dinkus- 
thrower  in  the  vacation  at  Rome,  but  the  color 
of  it  reminded  you  of  the  'Sunset  in  the  Grand 
Canon,  by  an  American  Artist,'  that  they  hang 
over  the  stove-pipe  holes  in  the  salongs.  He 
was  the  Reub,  without  needing  a  touch.  You'd 
have  known  him  for  one,  even  if  you'd  seen  him 


1 92  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

on  the  vaudeville  stage  with  one  cotton  sus 
pender  and  a  straw  over  his  ear. 

"I  told  him  what  I  wanted,  and  found  him 
ready  to  jump  at  the  job. 

"'Overlooking  such  a  trivial  little  peccadillo 
as  the  habit  of  manslaughter,'  says  I,  'what  have 
you  accomplished  in  the  way  of  indirect  bri 
gandage  or  non-actionable  thriftiness  that  you 
could  point  to,  with  or  without  pride,  as  an 
evidence  of  your  qualifications  for  the  posi 
tion?' 

"Why,'  says  he,  in  his  kind  of  Southern 
system  of  procrastinated  accents,  'hain't  you 
heard  tell?  There  ain't  any  man,  black  or 
white,  in  the  Blue  Ridge  that  can  tote  off  a 
shoat  as  easy  as  I  can  without  bein'  heard,  seen, 
or  cotched.  I  can  lift  a  shoat,'  he  goes  on,  'out 
of  a  pen,  from  under  a  porch,  at  the  trough, 
in  the  woods,  day  or  night,  anywhere  or  anyhow, 
and  I  guarantee  nobody  won't  hear  a  squeal. 
It's  all  in  the  way  you  grab  hold  of  'em  and 
carry  'em  afterwards.  Some  day,'  goes  on  this 
gentle  despoiler  of  pig-pens,  'I  hope  to  become 
reckernized  as  the  champion  shoat-stealer  of 
the  world.' 

"'It's  proper  to  be  ambitious,'  says  I;  'and 
hog-stealing  will  do  very  well  for  Mount  Nebo; 
but  in  the  outside  world,  Mr.  Tatum,  it  would 
be  considered  as  crude  a  piece  of  business  as  a 
bear  raid  on  Bay  State  Gas.  However,  it  will 
do  as  a  guarantee  of  good  faith.  We'll  go  into 
partnership.  I've  got  a  thousand  dollars  cash 
capital;  and  with  that  homeward-plods  atmos 
phere  of  yours  we  ought  to  be  able  to  win  out  a 


THE  ETHICS  OF  PIG  193 

few  shares   of  Soon   Parted,   preferred,  in  the 
money  market.' 

"So  I  attaches  Rufe,  and  we  go  away  from 
Mount  Nebo  down  into  the  lowlands.  And 
all  the  way  I  coach  him  for  his  part  in  the 
grafts  I  had  in  mind.  I  had  idled  away  twro 
months  on  the  Florida  coast,  and  was  feeling 
all  to  the  Ponce  de  Leon,  besides  having  so 
many  new  schemes  up  my  sleeve  that  I  had  to 
wear  kimonos  to  hold  'em. 

"I  intended  to  assume  a  funnel  shape  and 
mow  a  path  nine  miles  wide  through  the  farming 
belt  of  the  Middle  West;  so  we  headed  in  that 
direction.  But  when  we  got  as  far  as  Lexington 
we  found  Binkley  Brothers'  circus  there,  and  the 
blue-grass  peasantry  romping  into  town  and 
pounding  the  Belgian  blocks  with  their  hand- 
pegged  sabots  as  artless  and  arbitrary  as  an 
extra  session  of  a  Datto  Bryan  duma.  I  never 
pass  a  circus  without  pulling  the  valve-cord 
and  coming  down  for  a  little  Key  West  money; 
so  I  engaged  a  couple  of  rooms  and  board  for 
Rufe  and  me  at  a  house  near  the  circus  grounds 
run  by  a  widow  lady  named  Peevy.  Then  I 
took  Rufe  to  a  clothing  store  and  gent's-out- 
fitted  him.  He  showed  up  strong,  as  I  knew  he 
would,  after  he  was  rigged  up  in  the  ready-made 
rutabaga  regalia.  Me  and  old  Misfitzky  stuffed 
him  into  a  bright  blue  suit  with  a  Nile-green 
visible  plaid  effect,  and  riveted  on  a  fancy  vest 
of  a  light  Tuskegee  Normal  tan  color,  a  red 
necktie,  and  the  yellowest  pair  of  shoes  in  town. 

They  were  the  first  clothes  Rufe  had  ever 
worn  except  the  gingham  layette  and  the 


194  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

butternut  top-dressing  of  his  native  kraal,  and 
he  looked  as  self-conscious  as  an  Igorrote  with 
a  new  nose-ring. 

"That  night  I  went  down  to  the  circus  tents 
and  opened  a  small  shell  game.  Rufe  was  to  be 
the  capper.  I  gave  him  a  roll  of  phony  currency 
to  bet  with  and  kept  a  bunch  of  it  in  a  special 
pocket  to  pay  his  winnings  out  of.  No;  I  didn't 
mistrust  him;  but  I  simply  can't  manipulate 
the  ball  to  lose  when  I  see  real  money  bet. 
My  fingers  go  on  a  strike  every  time  I  try  it. 

"I  set  up  my  little  table  and  began  to  show 
them  how  easy  it  was  to  guess  which  shell  the 
little  pea  was  under.  The  unlettered  hinds 
gathered  in  a  thick  semicircle  and  began  to 
nudge  elbows  and  banter  one  another  to  bet. 
Then  was  when  Rufe  ought  to  have  single-footed 
up  and  called  the  turn  on  the  little  joker  for  a 
few  tens  and  fives  to  get  them  started.  But,  no 
Rufe.  I'd  seen  him  two  or  three  times  walking 
about  and  looking  at  the  side-show  pictures 
with  his  mouth  full  of  peanut  candy;  but  he 
never  came  nigh. 

"The  crowd  piked  a  little;  but  trying  to  work 
the  shells  without  a  capper  is  like  fishing  without 
bait.  I  closed  the  game  with  only  forty-two 
dollars  of  the  unearned  increment,  while  I  had 
been  counting  on  yanking  the  yeomen  for  two 
hundred  at  least.  I  went  home  at  eleven  and 
went  to  bed.  I  supposed  that  the  circus  had 
proved  too  alluring  for  Rufe,  and  that  he  had 
succumbed  to  it,  concert  and  all;  but  I  meant 
to  give  him  a  lecture  on  general  business  prin 
ciples  in  the  morning. 


THE  ETHICS  OF  PIG  195 

"Just  after  Morpheus  had  got  both  my 
shoulders  to  the  shuck  mattress  I  hears  a  house 
ful  of  unbecoming  and  ribald  noises  like  a  young 
ster  screeching  with  green-apple  colic.  I  opens 
my  door  and  calls  out  in  the  hall  for  the  widow 
lady,  and  when  she  sticks  her  head  out,  I  says: 
*Mrs.  Peevy,  ma'am,  would  you  mind  choking 
off  that  kid  of  yours  so  that  honest  people  can 
get  their  rest?' 

"'Sir,'  says  she,  'it's  no  child  of  mine.  It's 
the  pig  squealing  that  your  friend  Mr.  Tatum 
brought  home  to  his  room  a  couple  of  hours  ago. 
And  if  you  are  uncle  or  second  cousin  or  brother 
to  it,  I'd  appreciate  your  stopping  its  mouth, 
sir,  yourself,  if  you  please.' 

"I  put  on  some  of  the  polite  outside  habili 
ments  of  external  society  and  went  into  Rufe's 
room.  He  had  gotten  up  and  lit  his  lamp,  and 
was  pouring  some  milk  into  a  tin  pan  on  the 
floor  for  a  dingy-white,  half-grown,  squealing 

pig- 

"'How  is  this,  Rufe?'  says  I.  'You  flim- 
flammed  in  your  part  of  the  work  to-night 
and  put  the  game  on  crutches.  And  how  do 
you  explain  the  pig?  It  looks  like  back-sliding 
to  me.' 

"Now,  don't  be  too  hard  on  me  Jeff,'  says  he. 
'You  know  how  long  I've  been  used  to  stealing 
shoats.  It's  got  to  be  a  habit  with  me.  And 
to-night,  when  I  see  such  a  fine  chance,  I 
couldn't  help  takin'  it.' 

"Well,'  says  I,  'maybe  you've  really  got 
kleptopigia.  And  maybe  when  we  get  out  of  the 
pig  belt  you'll  turn  your  mind  to  higher  and 


196  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

more  remunerative  misconduct.  Why  you 
should  want  to  stain  your  soul  with  such  a 
distasteful,  feeble-minded,  perverted,  roaring 
beast  as  that  I  can't  understand.' 

"Why,  Jeff,'  says  he,  'you  ain't  in  sympathy 
with  shoats.  You  don't  understand  'em  like 
I  do.  This  here  seems  to  me  to  be  an  animal 
of  more  than  common  powers  of  ration  and 
intelligence.  He  walked  half  across  the  room 
on  his  hind  legs  a  while  ago.' 

"Well,  I'm  going  back  to  bed,'  says  I.  'See 
if  you  can  impress  it  upon  your  friend's  ideas 
of  intelligence  that  he's  not  to  make  so  much 
noise.' 

"He  was  hungry,'  says  Rufe.  'He'll  go  to 
sleep  and  keep  quiet  now.' 

"I  always  get  up  before  breakfast  and  read 
the  morning  paper  whenever  I  happen  to  be 
within  the  radius  of  a  Hoe  cylinder  or  a  Wash 
ington  hand-press.  The  next  morning  I  got 
up  early,  and  found  a  Lexington  daily  on  the 
front  porch  where  the  carrier  had  thrown  it. 
The  first  thing  I  saw  in  it  was  a  double-column 
ad.  on  the  front  page  that  read  like  this: 

FIVE  THOUSAND  DOLLARS  REWARD 

The  above  amount  will  be  paid,  and  no  questions  asked, 
for  the  return,  alive  and  uninjured,  of  Beppo,  the  famous 
European  educated  pig,  that  strayed  or  was  stolen  from 
the  side-show  tents  of  Binkley  Bros.'  circus  last  night. 
GEO.  B.  TAFLEY,  Business  Manager. 
At  the  circus  grounds. 

"I  folded  up  the  paper  flat,  put  it  into  my 
inside  pocket,  and  went  to  Rufe's  room.  He 


THE  ETHICS  OF  PIG  197 

was  nearly  dressed,  and  was  feeding  the  pig  the 
rest  of  the  milk  and  some  apple-peelings. 

"Well,  well,  well,  good-morning  all,'  I  says, 
hearty  and  amiable.  'So  we  are  up?  And 
piggy  is  having  his  breakfast.  What  had  you 
intended  doing  with  that  pig,  Rufe?' 

"I'm  going  to  crate  him  up,'  says  Rufe,  'and 
express  him  to  ma  in  Mount  Nebo.  He'll  be 
company  for  her  while  I  am  away.' 

"He's  a  mighty  fine  pig,'  says  I,  scratching 
him  on  the  back. 

"You  called  him  a  lot  of  names  last  night,' 
says  Rufe. 

'"Oh,  well,'  says  I,  'he  looks  better  to  me 
this  morning.  I  was  raised  on  a  farm,  and  I'm 
very  fond  of  pigs.  I  used  to  go  to  bed  at  sun 
down,  so  I  never  saw  one  by  lamplight  before. 
Tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Rufe,'  I  says.  Til  give 
you  ten  dollars  for  that  pig.' 

"I  reckon  I  wouldn't  sell  this  shoat,'  says  he. 
'If  it  was  any  other  one  I  might.' 

"'Why  not  this  one?'  I  asked,  fearful  that  he 
might  know  something. 

"Why,  because,'  says  he,  'it  was  the  grand 
est  achievement  of  my  life.  There  ain't  airy 
other  man  that  could  have  done  it.  If  I  ever 
have  a  fireside  and  children,  I'll  sit  beside  it  and 
tell  'em  how  their  daddy  toted  off  a  shoat  from 
a  whole  circus  full  of  people.  And  maybe  my 
grandchildren,  too.  They'll  certainly  be  proud 
a  whole  passel.  Why,'  says  he,  'there  was  two 
tents,  one  openin'  into  the  other.  This  shoat 
was  on  a  platform,  tied  with  a  little  chain.  I 
seen  a  giant  and  a  lady  with  a  fine  chance  of 


i98  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

bushy  white  hair  in  the  other  tent.  I  got  the 
shoat  and  crawled  out  from  under  the  canvas 
again  without  him  squeakin'  as  loud  as  a  mouse. 
I  put  him  under  my  coat,  and  I  must  have 
passed  a  hundred  folks  before  I  got  out  where 
the  streets  was  dark.  I  reckon  I  wouldn't  sell 
that  shoat,  Jeff.  I'd  want  ma  to  keep  it,  so 
there'd  be  a  witness  to  what  I  done.' 

"The  pig  won't  live  long  enough,'  I  says, 
'to  use  as  an  exhibit  in  your  senile  fireside 
mendacity.  Your  grandchildren  will  have  to 
take  your  word  for  it.  I'll  give  you  one  hundred 
dollars  for  the  animal.' 

"Rufe  looked  at  me  astonished. 
"The   shoat   can't   be   worth    anything  like 
that  to  you,'  he  says.     'What  do  you  want  him 
for?' 

"Viewing  me  casuistically,'  says  I,  with  a 
rare  smile,  'you  wouldn't  think  that  I've  got  an 
artistic  side  to  my  temper.  But  I  have.  I'm 
a  collector  of  pigs.  I've  scoured  the  world  for 
unusual  pigs.  Over  in  the  Wabash  Valley  I've 
got  a  hog  ranch  with  most  every  specimen  on  it, 
from  a  Merino  to  a  Poland  China.  This  looks 
like  a  blooded  pig  to  me,  Rufe,'  says  I.  'I 
believe  it's  a  genuine  Berkshire.  That's  why 
I'd  like  to  have  it.' 

"  T'd  shore  like  to  accommodate  you,'  says  he, 
'but  I've  got  the  artistic  tenement,  too.  I  don't 
see  why  it  ain't  art  when  you  can  steal  a  shoat 
better  than  anybody  else  can.  Shoats  is  a  kind 
of  inspiration  and  genius  with  me.  Specially 
this  one.  I  wouldn't  take  two  hundred  and 
fifty  for  that  animal.' 


THE  ETHICS  OF  PIG  199 

"  'Now,  listen/  says  I,  wiping  off  my  forehead. 
'It's  not  so  much  a  matter  of  business  with 
me  as  it  is  art;  and  not  so  much  art  as  it  is 
philanthropy.  Being  a  connoisseur  and  dis 
seminator  of  pigs,  I  wouldn't  feel  like  I'd  done 
my  duty  to  the  world  unless  I  added  that 
Berkshire  to  my  collection.  Not  intrinsically, 
but  according  to  the  ethics  of  pigs  as  friends  and 
coadjutors  of  mankind,  I  offer  you  five  hundred 
dollars  for  the  animal.' 

"Jeff,'  says  this  pork  esthete,  'it  ain't  money; 
it's  sentiment  with  me.' 

'"Seven  hundred,'  says  I. 

'"Make  it  eight  hundred,'  says  Rufe,  'and  I'll 
crush  the  sentiment  out  of  my  heart.' 

"I  went  under  my  clothes  for  my  money-belt, 
and  counted  him  out  forty  twenty-dollar  gold 
certificates. 

"I'll  just  take  him  into  my  own  room,-'  says  I, 
'and  lock  him  up  till  after  breakfast.' 

"I  took  the  pig  by  the  hind  leg.  He  turned 
on  a  squeal  like  the  steam  calliope  at  the  cir 
cus. 

"Let  me  tote  him  in  for  you,'  says  Rufe;  and 
he  picks  up  the  beast  under  one  arm,  holding 
his  snout  with  the  other  hand,  and  packs  him 
into  my  room  like  a  sleeping  baby. 

"After  breakfast  Rufe,  who  had  a  chronic  case 
of  haberdashery  ever  since  I  got  his  trousseau, 
says  he  believes  he  will  amble  down  to 
Misfitzky's  and  look  over  some  royal-purple 
socks.  And  then  I  got  as  busy  as  a  one-armed 
man  with  the  nettle-rash  pasting  on  wall-paper. 
I  found  an  old  negro  man  with  an  express  wagon 


200  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

to  hire;  and  we  tied  the  pig  in  a  sack  and  drove 
down  to  the  circus  grounds. 

"I  found  George  B.  Tapley  in  a  little  tent 
with  a  window  flap  open.  He  was  a  fattish 
man  with  an  immediate  eye,  in  a  black  skull-cap 
with  a  four-ounce  diamond  screwed  into  the 
bosom  of  his  red  sweater. 

'"Are  you  George  B.  Tapley?'  I  asks. 

"T  swear  it,'  says  he. 
"Well,  I've  got  it,'  says  I. 

'"Designate,'  says  he.  'Are  you  the  guinea 
pigs  for  the  Asiatic  python  or  the  alfalfa  for 
the  sacred  buffalo?' 

"Neither,'  says  I.  'I've  got  Beppo,  the 
educated  hog,  in  a  sack  in  that  wagon.  I  found 
him  rooting  up  the  flowers  in  my  front  yard 
this  morning.  I'll  take  the  five  thousand 
dollars  in  large  bills,  if  it's  handy.' 

"George  B.  hustles  out  of  his  tent,  and  asks  me 
to  follow.  We  went  into  one  of  the  side-shows. 
In  there  was  a  jet  black  pig  with  a  pink  ribbon 
around  his  neck  lying  on  some  hay  and  eating 
carrots  that  a  man  was  feeding  to  him. 

:"Hey,  Mac,'  calls  G.  B.  'Nothing  wrong 
with  the  world-wide  this  morning,  is  there?' 

"'Him?  No,'  says  the  man.  'He's  got  an 
appetite  like  a  chorus  girl  at  I  A.  M.' 

'"How'd  you  get  this  pipe?'  says  Tapley  to 
me.  'Eating  too  many  pork  chops  last  night?' 

"I  pulls  out  the  paper  and  shows  him  the  ad. 

"'Fake,'  says  he.  'Don't  know  anything 
about  it.  You've  beheld  with  your  own  eyes 
the  marvelous,  world-wide  porcine  wonder  of 
the  four-footed  kingdom  eating  with  preter- 


THE  ETHICS  OF  PIG  201 

natural  sagacity  his  matutinal  meal,  unstrayed 
and  unstole.  Good-morning.' 

"I  was  beginning  to  see.  I  got  in  the  wagon 
and  told  Uncle  Ned  to  drive  to  the  most  ad 
jacent  orifice  of  the  nearest  alley.  There  I  took 
out  my  pig,  got  the  range  carefully  for  the  other 
opening,  set  his  sights,  and  gave  him  such  a  kick 
that  he  went  out  the  other  end  of  the  alley 
twenty  feet  ahead  of  his  squeal. 

"Then  I  paid  Uncle  Ned  his  fifty  cents,  and 
walked  down  to  the  newspaper  office.  I  wanted 
to  hear  it  in  cold  syllables.  I  got  the  adver 
tising  man  to  his  window. 

"'To  decide  a  bet,'  says  I,  'wasn't  the  man 
who  had  this  ad.  put  in  last  night  short  and  fat, 
with  long  black  whiskers  and  a  club-root ' ' 

"He  was  not,'  says  the  man.  'He  would 
measure  about  six  feet  by  four  and  a  half  inches, 
with  corn-silk  hair,  and  dressed  like  the  pansies 
of  the  conservatory.' 

"At  dinner  time  I  went  back  to  Mrs.  Peevy's. 

'"Shall  I  keep  some  soup  hot  for  Mr.  Tatum 
till  he  comes  back?'  she  asks. 

"If  you  do,  ma'am,'  says  I,  'you'll  more 
than  exhaust  for  firewood  all  the  coal  in  the 
bosom  of  the  earth  and  all  the  forests  on  the 
outside  of  it.' 

"So  there,  you  see,"  said  Jefferson  Peters, 
in  conclusion,  "how  hard  it  is  ever  to  find  a  fair- 
minded  and  honest  business-partner." 

"But,"  I  began,  with  the  freedom  of  long 
acquaintance,  "the  rule  should  work  both  ways. 
If  you  had  offered  to  divide  the  reward  you 
would  not  have  lost " 


202  THE  GENTLE  GRAFTER 

Jeff's  look  of  dignified  reproach  stopped  me. 

"That  don't  involve  the  same  principles  at 
all,"  said  he.  "Mine  was  a  legitimate  and 
moral  attempt  at  speculation.  Buy  low  and 
sell  high — don't  Wall  Street  indorse  it?  Bulls 
and  bears  and  pigs — what's  the  difference? 
Why  not  bristles  as  well  as  horns  and  fur?" 


THE    END 


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